


Payback’s a Bitch (But The Backlash Is Worse)

by storyranger



Series: A Boy and His (Big) Dog [9]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Backlash 2017, Bad Parenting, Blackmail, Brotherhood, Canon-Typical Violence, Cassamore - Freeform, Difficult Decisions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enzo gets beat up again, F/F, F/M, Fight Forever, Finn The Replacement, French, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Littering, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, New Friends, Nightmares, Payback 2017, Racism, Sharing a Bed, Shinsuke the Psychic, Tattoos, Walking In On Someone, ambreigns - Freeform, dance lessons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 16:26:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11165637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyranger/pseuds/storyranger
Summary: When Roman gets mauled by Braun Strowman, Dean has to step up and take care of his boy the best he can. Luckily, this time he has Seth to help.Plus: Sami faces some tough choices, Cass wishes people would jump him instead of Enzo, and Baron Corbin makes a friend.(Believe me, he's as surprised as you are.)





	1. Born For Greatness

**Author's Note:**

> «text» means someone is speaking in French.

_April 10, 2017_

_Long Island, New York_

 

Sometimes Dean honestly wonders if the world is out to get him.

He’s spent a year separated from Roman, stealing time together whenever their hectic schedules allow. And just as they finally, finally are put on the same roster, Braun fucking Strowman decides to bulldoze his moment and dish out a beating on Roman so savage that it makes Dean feel physically ill to watch.

Because that’s what Dean had to do. _Watch_. Helplessly watch, unable to rush to Roman’s side and try to rescue him, because there was already an entire team out there trying to beat back The Monster and there was no way in hell Seth was letting him out of this room to go get himself killed.

“LET ME GO!” Dean screams at him, but Seth continues to block the door, biting his lip to keep from losing his resolve.

“There’s nothing you can do, Dean,” he repeats, as calmly as possible given that Seth himself is nearly frantic with worry.

“ _Please_ ,” Dean whispers, and Seth shakes his head and reaches out to wrap Dean in a bear hug. They collapse in a clumsy heap on the ground, Seth trying desperately to sooth his distraught friend, just in time for them to watch Strowman flip the ambulance with Roman still inside.

Dean runs to the toilet and vomits.

Seth’s beside him immediately, rubbing his back like he’s five years old. Dean may as well be a child again, given how useless he feels right now. Seth gets him some water and he rinses and spits, then drains the rest of the bottle. His stomach is still in knots.

“They got another ambulance. He’s on the way to the hospital,” Seth says gently.

“Then let’s go.”

Seth shakes his head. “You have a match.”

“Fuck the match.”

“Roman would want you to finish the show.”

Dean wants to scream in frustration, but he knows in his heart that Seth’s right. He was perfectly willing to risk a fine, or worse, but Roman would be furious if he found out Dean skipped his match for anything other than Roman’s funeral.

“You go out there and kick Kevin Owens’ ass in the main event, and I’ll get the details on where they took him and be waiting to drive you there the second the bell rings, okay?”

His heart is screaming at him, but for once his head wins out.

“Okay.”

 

 

Chris Jericho wandering into the ring to seek revenge on Owens wasn’t exactly how Dean was expecting this match to end. Ordinarily Dean would _love_ to stick around and watch this drama fest unfold, but he’s already won and he needs to get to Roman. _Now_. So he books it backstage, where Seth is waiting with both their gym bags slung over his shoulder, spinning the car keys around and around his finger.

“Good to go?” Seth asks, trying to keep his voice casual. Dean can only nod in response; his throat seems clogged. Seth hands over Dean’s bag and throws an arm around him, pulling him gently toward the parking lot.

He lets Seth drive, and spends the trip fiddling with his phone. A dozen or so missed texts, all variations of “holy shit” and “let us know if there’s anything we can do.” He sends Corbin and Sami a quick “keep you posted” and trusts that Sami will spread the word.

It’s been both forever and no time at all when they pull up at the doors to the emergency room. Seth shoos Dean out so he can go park, leaving Dean to awkwardly approach the receptionist alone.

“Uh… um… I’m looking for Roman Reigns?”

The receptionist, a no-nonsense woman in her mid-thirties, eyes him suspiciously and asks “And who might you be?”

“Ambrose. Dean Ambrose.”

“You’re on the admit list. The doctors aren’t letting in visitors yet.”

“Are you sure?” asks Seth, coming up from behind.

“And you are?”

“Seth Rollins.”

“Ah. You’re also on the list. Rest assured, you’ll be told the moment you’re allowed in. Mr. Reigns made his preferences about that _very_ clear.”

Seth smirks at this, and Dean manages the tiniest of smiles. He shuffles over to the crappy waiting room chairs, picks one at random and all but collapses into it.

“Roman’s gear,” he says with a start.

Seth smiles. “Don’t you worry. It’s in the back of our van. I loaded it while you were out kicking KO’s ass. Speaking of which, here,” Seth adds, pulling something soft and black out of his backpack and tossing it to Dean. Dean catches it and holds it tightly, breathing in the unmistakably _Roman_ scent of it. It’s the hoodie Roman wore on his way to the arena, and as Seth pulls on his own sweatshirt Dean realizes he’s freezing. His undershirt is sweat-soaked and sticky, and his jacket must be in his bag, out in the car. He tugs the damp shirt off completely before slipping on the hoodie.

“Do you want me to try and find coffee or do you wanna try and sleep?”

Dean considers carefully. Coffee seems like the more attractive choice, but his ribs still aren’t fully healed and Owens managed to do quite a bit of damage before Dean got the pin. Besides, he can’t be freaking out about being in a hospital if he’s not awake, right?

“Sleep,” he answers finally, and Seth nods, pulling a thick volume of manga out from his backpack and repositioning himself so Dean can lean against him if he chooses. Dean takes advantage of the extra warmth ( _Jesus Christ, do all hospitals sign a contract to air-condition like they’re an ice rink?_ ) and leans heavily against Seth’s shoulder.

It doesn’t take him long to fall asleep, but he tumbles right into a nightmare.

 

_He’s in a dark, tight space. He can’t see much. He can hear heavy breathing from above him, and he can’t move his arms. Why can’t he move his arms?_

_The tiny box rocks, and he hears metal crashing together. He tries once more, desperately, to move his arms, but he just can’t. He gives up and pushes his back against the wall, dragging himself upright. The box rocks again, throwing him against something warm and solid._

_He looks down and the reason his arms are stuck finally becomes clear._

_A straightjacket._

_He starts to shake, knees weakening, and he spots what it was he hit._

_Roman. Strapped to a stretcher, unconscious and unmoving._

_The box rocks a third time, knocking him to the floor, the stretcher tumbling down after him and beginning to crush him slowly. His chest is burning and he can’t get air and-_

“Dean?” says a worried voice just above him. There’s a hand on his arm, someone gently shaking him, but he’s in defensive mode and shrugs them off with more force then he intends. He opens his eyes with a start. Seth is standing over him, a worried look on his face. Dean shuts his eyes again and shivers, and Seth sits back down and pulls him into another hug.

“Nightmare?” he asks quietly, and Dean nods. Seth doesn’t ask what it was about, and Dean’s not about to offer the information.

“What’s taking them so damn long?”

“He’s gonna be okay, Dean.”

Dean begins scratching at the back of his neck, leg bouncing. “Need to see him.”

“I know.”

Dean shifts so he’s still leaning against Seth but the arm of the chair is no longer digging into his gut, breathing deeply in an attempt to slow his racing pulse. Seth keeps his grip on Dean and retrieves his book, shoving his backpack towards Dean with his foot.

“When was the last time you ate?”

“Don’t remember.”

“There’s a smoothie and some carrot sticks and cookies in there. You need to eat.”

“Dunno. Kinda feel like I’m gonna vomit again.”

“Start with the smoothie then, and go from there.”

Dean’s pretty convinced the whole thing is gonna end up on Seth’s shoes, but Seth’s right this time. He’s nauseous from hunger, not from the panic, and he quickly devours the rest of the food Seth’s brought.

“Better?”

Dean nods. “A bit.”

“Do you need a break? We dunno how long it’ll be before they let us in. You could go take a nap in the car.”

Dean hesitates. “You’ll call me the minute they come get us?”

“Promise.”

“Okay.”

 

In the end it’s lucky he took the break, because it’s another two hours before the nurse comes out and calls for them, and Dean probably would have been dead on his feet without the nap. He swipes the sleep from his eyes as he sprints inside, and has to consciously force himself to slow to a brisk walk as he crosses the lobby to meet Seth and the nurse at the doors to the actual patient area.

The corridor feels endless and smells like antiseptic and fear. He hasn’t been in a hospital in almost three years, not since he had to bring Roman in for surgery right before Night of Champions. For a brief moment he wants to turn around and punch Seth, right here in this hallway, for making him go through that alone. Instead, he reaches out and touches Seth’s forearm, grounding himself. Seth responds by gently squeezing his hand, and that’s when the nurse finally stops and herds them into a room.

 

Roman is clearly exhausted and in pain, despite the drugs, but he’s been stubbornly hanging on to consciousness until he can see Dean and he’s not about to quit now. He’s shirtless, and his chest and abdomen are a purple mess of bruises. More bruise then skin, at this point. His stomach’s slightly swollen, and his left shoulder is immobilized. Still, he somehow manages a smile when Dean comes through the door.

Dean immediately grabs his hand, while Seth comes around on Roman’s other side and pulls up a chair. Roman mouths a quick _thank you_ at Seth before turning his full attention to his boyfriend, who is attempting to be stoic when really all he wants to do is sob with relief.

Roman gingerly shifts so he’s as far to the left of the mattress as he can manage, then pats the small space beside him with his good arm. Dean raises an eyebrow, doubtful that they’ll both fit in the narrow excuse for a bed, but Roman gives him a pleading look and Dean figures it’s worth a shot. He somehow manages to fold himself into the tiny spot at Roman’s side, and Roman immediately buries his hand in Dean’s hair as Dean begins to cry.

“Shhhhhhhhh, _uce_ , it’s okay. I’m okay.”

“I thought he was going to kill you,” Dean whispers.

“Gonna take more than a bully like Braun Strowman to put me down, _uce_. And don’t you ever forget it.”

 

After about half an hour, a different nurse pops her head in. “Sorry, gentlemen, we don’t actually allow overnight visitors, so I’m going to have to ask that you leave in a few minutes.”

Roman shakes his head. “They’re not going anywhere.”

“It’s policy, sir.”

“Not. Going. _Anywhere_.”

The nurse takes a fortifying breath, then plasters on her best customer service smile and says, “At least let me get you a second recliner, then.”

Roman glances down quizzically at Dean, who shrugs and answers, “If you’re comfy like this, Ro, then I’m fine.”

“I don’t think that’s wise-”

“ _He said he’s fine_ ,” Roman growls. The nurse, who’s already dealt with three screaming babies and a case of _fucking_ _measles_ today, rolls her eyes and leaves. She smelt pizza coming from the break room a few minutes ago and if all of it got eaten while she was stuck explaining simple rules to a brick wall, she’s going to stage a mutiny.

 

***

_April 11, 2017_

_Long Island, New York_

 

At some point during the night someone must have come by and taken pity on them, because Seth awakes to find himself and Dean thoughtfully covered with blankets.

Speaking of pity, Sami and Bayley are currently trying to garner some from the receptionist.

“We’re here to see Roman Reigns.”

“Technically there’s a limit on the number of visitors at a time,” she informs them sternly. Both look crestfallen at this development, and though the receptionist is a seasoned professional, something about Bayley’s “puppy dog that’s been kicked by a grumpy toddler” eyes pushes her over the edge. She takes a deep breath and continues, “but technically we also have visiting hours, a fact which Mr. Reigns has already _completely_ ignored, so what the hell.”

A few minutes later, and Bayley and Sami are quietly hovering in the doorway to Roman’s room. Seth puts a finger on his lips and points to the still-sleeping Roman and Dean, then waves them inside.

“How is he?” Bayley asks, pulling Seth to his feet for a hug. Seth lets the hug linger as the remaining tension finally bleeds out of him, then releases her while answering “He’s certainly as strong-willed as ever. Can’t say for sure how fucked up he is physically. Fell asleep before I could ask.”

“How’d Dean handle it?” asks Sami, who’s still hanging back, looking far more agitated then the situation truly warrants.

“Like a fucking champ. Kept it together much longer than anyone had any right to expect of him.”

Sami says nothing, and has started staring vaguely out the window. Seth frowns for a moment, then says brightly, “Bayley, I’m gonna go try and find us some coffee and some snacks. Mind staying here in case these two wake up?”

“’Course.”

Sami snaps back to attention. “What about me?”

“Gonna need more than two hands, now, aren’t it?” Seth says, slapping him gently on the arm and leading the way out of the room.

 

“Okay, what’s wrong?” Seth asks, as they’re making their way through the checkout line at the hospital’s café.

“Nothing’s wrong. Why are you asking?”

“You’re practically shaking out of your shoes, Sami. I’ve never seen you this keyed up before, and it can’t all be because of Roman.”

“It’s not important.”

“Like hell it’s not important. If you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine, I get it, but at least let me call Finn for you, or send Bayley down here or _something_.”

Sami bites his lip for a moment, and then sits down at one of the empty booths in the corner and starts fidgeting with the sugar caddy. Seth sits across from him and waits for him to speak.

“So you know how Kurt Angle was saying that there’s been interest from Smackdown about me?”

“I remember something about that, yeah.”

“Shane McMahon called me last night. Made me an offer. A really good offer. Daniel Bryan emailed me the contract this morning and a list of matches he wants to make for me. Might even get a title shot.”

“That’s amazing. Congratulations, Sami. You really deserve it.”

“I haven’t called him back yet.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not sure how I’m going to answer.”

Seth stares at him, incredulous. “Shane _wants_ you. And I wish I could say Steph’s gonna wake up and realise the talent that she’s wasting but honestly, I don’t think she’s ever going to change.”

“I just don’t know.”

“Sami, Mick’s not here anymore. Daniel Bryan is offering you opportunities Kurt Angle can’t give you when Steph gets back. I think your friends are gonna go out of their way to make sure they visit you loads. What’s there to keep you here, Sami? What are you so afraid of?”

“Kevin Owens is going to Smackdown.”

_Oh. Well, shit._

“Look, it’s not my place…” Seth pauses, then shrugs and adds, “But that never stopped me from saying shit on live TV so why stop now, right? Here goes: Sami, this could be the biggest opportunity of your career to date. You want to give Owens the satisfaction of screwing it up for you? Seriously?”

“He wouldn’t _know_ that was why I stayed away, though,” Sami says absently.

“That’s not really the point.”

“What if I’m not as good as Shane thinks I am?”

“Are you questioning the Commissioner of Smackdown’s judgement and good taste?” Seth asks, in mock horror. It’s lame, but it’s enough to get Sami to crack a smile and stop with the self-doubt for a second. Seth continues, seriously, “Sami, if there’s anyone who’s going to be patient with a superstar when they get in a slump, it’s going to be Daniel Bryan.”

“I know.”

“It honestly might be the better show. Not to be disloyal to Raw or anything, but Dean and AJ really built something over there.”

“I know, I know, _I know_.”

“Do you wanna call Finn and talk to him first?”

Sami shakes his head. “He’s supposed to be sleeping as much as possible. Trainers said it’s a concussion. Threw up a couple times after his match. No way I’m waking him for something as stupid as this.”

“It’s not stupid, Sami.”

“Can you … would you stay with me? While I call Shane?”

“Of course I will.”

Sami pulls out his phone, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in and out. When he opens them, there’s the spark of the underdog that pinned Seth for a Rumble spot.

“Okay,” Sami says, hitting the call button. “Let’s do this.”

 

“Say hi to Daniel Bryan for us,” Enzo mumbles against Sami’s chest, as he and Cass sandwich Sami between them in a hug. It’s a few hours later, and they’re standing around Sami’s car, preparing to see him off.

“An’ drive safe, y’hear?” Cass rumbles, voice a little thick.

“I just can’t believe you’re really leaving!” Bayley wails, lurching forward to crush him into a hug of her own.

Sami pats her back fondly. “Bayley, I’m not going off to war. I’ll call every day if you want.”

“It won’t be the same,” she sniffles, but eventually she lets go so someone else can have a turn.

Finn claps her on the shoulder. “Come on, Bayley, stiff upper lip. Poor Sami doesn’t need us fussing on top of his own worries.” He pulls Sami into a bear hug and whispers, “won’t be the same round here without you, _mo chara_.”

“Feels like I just got you back, _sadayqaa_ , and now I’m leaving.”

“It’s not forever,” Finn reminds him as they pull apart. They’re both a little teary.

“I know,” he says, swiping at his face before looking back at everyone else. “Well, goodbye I guess.”

“See you soon,” Enzo insists.

Bayley nods. “Good luck, Sami!”

“Enough stalling, get in the car already,” chirps Finn with a grin. “Can’t be late for your first day!”

That finally gets a laugh out of Sami. After one last, long group hug, he gets in the car and pulls out of the lot, headed for Boston, and the next chapter of his career.

 

***

_April 11, 2017_

_Boston, Massachusetts_

 

Sami had at least hoped to make it through his first night on Smackdown without a backstage clash with Kevin.

Unfortunately, Kevin had other ideas.

 _«What the fuck are you doing here?_ _»_

 _«Land of opportunity, Kevin. Plenty of room here for the both of us_ _»_

 _«This is my show now, Sami. The Kevin Owens show. And I don’t need a pathetic nobody like you hanging around to ruin it._ _»_

There are a million things Sami could say, but it’s late and he’s tired and right now he just doesn’t _care_.

“Whatever,” he responds  in English, and turns to walk away, but Kevin grabs him by the back of his shirt and slams him up against the wall, pinning him in place.

 _«No. You do not get to walk away from me._ _»_

Sami sighs. He should probably be terrified, but for some reason the only thing he feels right now is mild annoyance. All he wants is to get in his car and call Finn and Kevin is quite literally standing in the way of that.

 _«You know what? Fine. Just whatever you’re gonna do, do it quick._ _»_

 _«Oh, like you have somewhere to be,_ _»_ Kevin sneers.

“He does have somewhere to be, actually,” a voice behind Kevin says brightly, causing him to whirl around angrily. Sami can just make out a shock of red hair next to a sharply dressed Renee Young.

“Yeah, he’s got a date with two beautiful ladies,” adds the redhead with a lilting Irish brogue, and Sami realises it must be Becky Lynch.

Kevin looks like he’s about to retort, but he must not like his odds much because instead he spits one last insult at Sami and storms off down the hall.

Sami straightens up and dusts his jacket off. “Thanks for the save, you guys. Have a nice evening, eh?”

“Woah woah woah, where do you think you’re going?” Becky demands, putting her hands on her hips in mock annoyance.

“I was… the hotel?”

“You have a date with two lovely ladies.”

“I … I mean, you’re both beautiful, but… I… I really just wanted to go call Finn?”

Renee giggles. “Relax, Sami, Becky’s messing with you. We just want to hang out. If you’d rather go to bed we underst-”

“Becky?” asks a familiar voice, coming from the phone Becky is now holding near Sami’s face.

“Yea, Finn, it’s Becky. I have Sami here and I was about to whisk him away for the night of his life, but he said he’d rather call you?”

“Becks, it’s not _my_ fault if Sami likes me better. You know what an irresistible rogue I am.”

“I’m sure you’re great, Becky, I didn’t mean-”

“Relax, Sami, Becky’s taking the piss. Just smile and nod and she’ll get bored of teasing you.”

“You’re no fun at all, Finn Bálor.”

“Yeah, yeah. Becks, can you put me on with Sami for a minute?”

“Fiiiiiiiiine,” she huffs, but she gives Sami a grin so he knows it’s okay as she takes the phone off speakerphone and hands it over.

“Hey Sami, how’d the first night go?”

“I lost to AJ.”

“I know, I watched. Amazing match, any of you three could’ve won.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“I’m serious, Sami. Styles and Corbin are incredibly talented, and you looked just as good as they did out there.”

Sami hums noncommittally. “Nakamura’s finally been brought up. Be cool if I got to get back in the ring with him sometime soon.”

“One minute he says he’s not as good as AJ Styles, and the next he’s ready to lock up with Shinsuke Nakamura.”

“Fake it till you make it, right?”

“Damn right.”

“Kevin’s really mad I’m here.”

“Yeah? How’d you find that out?”

“Cornered me after the show. Told me what a piece of shit I was. The usual.”

“Fuck him.”

“Yeah.”

“You call me any time, you hear?”

“You only told me that a million times before I left Long Island this morning.”

“I mean it.”

“I know. Thanks Finn.”

“Have a good night, Sami. Put me back on with Becky, okay?”

Sami hands the phone back to Becky, who walks a few steps away from the other two and begins speaking to Finn in rapid Irish. After a moment she says “goodbye” (the only word amongst the stream that Sami could pick out and understand besides “friend”) and turns back to them, grinning triumphantly.

“Finn said you _have_ to hang out with us.”

“No one’s trying to set me up with anyone, right?” Sami asks, worried.

“Depends. How do you feel about threesomes?” Renee asks, grinning as Sami turns a violent shade of crimson and begins to splutter unintelligibly.

Becky shakes her head and grabs Renee’s hand possessively. “Now she’s the one taking the piss. I don’t share.”

“Oh, you two are-”

“Don’t tell anyone,” Becky orders sternly, grabbing his hand too and pulling them both towards the carpark.

Sami looks over to Renee, who’s once again supressing giggles. “ _Now_ I understand why you’re pretending to be Dean’s girlfriend.”

“Room 301,” Renee says, recovering herself as Sami unlocks his car and slides stiffly into the driver’s seat. “But only if you’re feeling up to it.”

“Thanks,” Sami says, and he means it.

 

He takes them up on the offer, and they chat and play a card game (that Renee is too damn amazing at for her own good) for a few hours before Sami pleads exhaustion and heads back to his own room to sleep. It doesn’t feel like home quite yet, but Sami thinks he can get used to it.

 

***

_April 13, 2017_

_Long Island, New York_

 

Kurt Angle knows an inseparable bond when he sees one; Exhibit A, his immediate approval of Dean’s request for time off after Roman was attacked. Which is why Dean is currently curled up by Roman’s side in his hospital bed instead of getting ready to wrestle at tonight’s house show.

“I’m getting out tomorrow,” Roman murmurs into Dean’s hair. “They told me when you were downstairs grabbing dinner.”

“That’s good news. When do you want me to book your flight to Florida for?”

“I’m not flying.”

“It’ll be a bit of a stretch, but I can drive you to Pensacola and be back for the show on Saturday.”

“You are _not_ driving for 36 hours and wrestling right after.”

“What do you want me to do then?”

“I don’t want you to do anything. I don’t want to go anywhere. I want to stay with you.”

“Ro, you’re still hurt bad. Need to rest. You should go home.”

Roman raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t.”

Dean shrugs. “I didn’t have a family at home who could take care of me.”

“I got family right here, family who needs me. How am I gonna rest and recover if I’m spending every waking minute worrying about who has your back, _uce_?”

Dean wants so badly to argue on this, but he knows in his heart that Roman’s got a point, and he can’t bring himself to lie and say he doesn’t need Roman. Because the truth is, he does. Some days he needs him like he needs oxygen.

“If staying on the road is what you think is best, I ain’t gonna fight you about it. Scared though.”

“What, you think Strowman’s gonna track me down to your room?”

“Nah. Scared I can’t take care of you as good as you took care of me.”

“Yeah you can, _uce_. Because you’re gonna do your best. And that’s what I did.”

“I love you, Ro.”

“Love you too, Dean.”

 

_***_

_April 24, 2017_

_Kansas City, Missouri_

 

When you’re seven feet tall, it takes a man with a lot of balls to try and jump you before a match.

Say what you will about Samoa Joe, but he’s not lacking in the testicle department.

Cass struggles desperately to wrench himself from Samoa Joe’s grip so he can get to Enzo. Seth comes tearing out and gives The Club a few whacks to get them off Enzo before turning his attention to Samoa Joe, giving Cass some breathing room to get his head in the game. As much as he wants to run to Enzo’s side, he can’t repay the favour by abandoning Seth to these bozos, so he forces down his panic and dives back into the fray.

By the time the trainers and suits finally get out to there, Seth and Cass have cleared the ring. Enzo is lying on the concrete, unmoving, in a scene that’s becoming dreadfully familiar.

“Zo. Zo. ZO!” Cass cries, but there’s no response beyond that glassy, unfocused stare.

“Get him to the back!” barks the nearest trainer, and Seth is beside him now, reassuring.

“Got the hardest head in the business, Cass. Enzo’s gonna be just fine.”

 

Meanwhile, backstage, Kurt Angle has to make yet another snap substitution since his roster apparently still hasn’t grasped that jumping one’s opponent before a match doesn’t mean a forfeit win anymore. Not on Kurt Angle’s show, and that’s the damn truth.

Maybe he should send out a memo.

Regardless, from the looks of the swarm of trainers clustered around Enzo Amore right now, he’s going to need a replacement, and quickly.

As he steps out of his office, Kurt almost smacks into a trio chatting in the hall. A trio including Finn, lounging shirtless against the wall as if he’d sensed Kurt’s need. He’s chatting with Sasha and Bayley, but he snaps to attention when he sees the GM.

“Bálor, please tell me you have your trunks under those sweatpants.”

“You’re in luck, sir.”

“Follow me,” Kurt orders, and charges off down the hallway, completely missing Bayley tugging off Finn’s jacket and tossing it back to him before Finn can run after him.

“The Club jumped Enzo, so Cass and Rollins need a partner,” Kurt says when they reach gorilla.

“Becoming a bit of a pattern, isn’t it?”

Kurt sighs angrily. “I’m sending a memo.”

“Not that I mind tagging, but I am technically a singles wrestler, sir.”

Kurt sighs again and grips Finn’s shoulder, suddenly looking a decade older. “Surprised you’ve been this patient, frankly. You hang tight till after Payback, Finn, and if I have anyone left alive, you can wrestle them all.”

His music hits, and he turns away and squares up, ready to go out there and lay down the law. Suddenly, at the last second, he turns back and gives Finn a small smile.

“You’re a lifesaver, Bálor.”

And then he’s gone.

Finn almost laughs at the look of pure relief on Seth’s face as his own music hits, but he concentrates on looking suave and saunters down the entrance ramp.

For a team thrown together at the last minute, they manage to hold their own fairly well, and though Finn took a few more hits then was probably necessary, he was impressed with how quickly Seth managed to clean house and pick up the win once Finn tagged him in. The new finisher was also pretty impressive, and Finn makes a mental note to ask Seth what he plans to name it.

“You looked great out there, Big Guy,” Enzo gushes as Cass catches him up in a hug.

“Zo, should you be up?”

“M’fine, Cass, stop fussin’. Gonna take a lot more than a few cheap shots from the Chrome Domes to put me down.”

“Getting’ real tired of people tryn’a mess with my boy,” Cass hisses, glowering.

“Sounds like you might be interested in some Payback,” Kurt pipes up from across the room. He’s huddled with a few of the other managers, muttering over a clipboard with “PAYBACK CARD” written across the top page in red block letters.

“Enzo and Big Cass vs. Anderson and Gallows, and we let Miz do his little interview segment to get him to shut up for a bit. Sound like a kickoff show?”

The other suits nod sagely and Kurt looks over expectantly at Enzo and Cass.

“If we had a dime for every time Cass and I turned down a match, we would have zero dimes!” Enzo answers with enthusiasm. Kurt stares at him, confused.

“He means we’re in, Kurt,” Cass supplies, and Kurt breathes a sigh of relief and goes back into the huddle, muttering about “the youths” and their “fancy slang”.

“After party in our room, bring the ladies” Enzo declares as the four of them head to the locker room.

“Zo, you sure that’s wise?”

“Big Cass, you stop your fussin’ now or I’m changing your name to Big Wet Blanket.”

“That’s going to sound stupid on the mic,” declares Seth.

“And your entrance graphic will be so unbalanced, creative is going to tear their hair out,” Finn chimes in, supressing a laugh.

“Fine,” Cass concedes, “but y’all gotta leave by one o’clock so Enzo can sleep!”

 

Cass ends up bending on the curfew, because Bayley brought Candyland and Cass didn’t think it was fair to make everyone stop playing. Especially when he was so close to a win. That would have just been _rude_.

 

***

_April 25, 2017_

_Des Moines, Iowa_

 

Of all the people Sami met in NXT, the one he’d probably been dying to see again (besides Finn, of course) was Shinsuke Nakamura.

They weren’t close enough in developmental to stay in touch once Sami moved to Raw, but Sami has been following his matches eagerly, and from the warm welcome Shin gave him last week when he finally managed find a spare minute to say hi, the familiarity isn’t all in Sami’s head.

“You deserve win. Jinder cheat. Not very honourable.”

“Well, he is from Alberta.”

“Sami, you still same. Make jokes too specific.”

“You’ve changed though. Your English is getting so good.”

“I practise very hard. Maybe now you here, you can help.”

“Yeah, I’d love that-” Sami begins, before he’s cut off by a flying hug from a familiar security officer.

“Sami, that was bullshit. I’m so sorry,” Elise murmurs, quickly pulling back as she realises she’s interrupted something.

“Elise, this is Shinsuke Nakamura. Shin, I promised I’d give this one a lift to the hotel, but I’ll give you my number-” he produces an old receipt from his jacket pocket and scrawls the digits down, handing the scrap of paper to Shinsuke with an apologetic grin, “-and hopefully we can meet sometime soon to catch up.”

“Good night, Sami.” He looks thoughtfully in Elise’s direction for a second. “Nice, haaair,” he pronounces, then walks away.

Elise can’t say anything. She just stares after Nakamura, mouth hanging open, as he wanders down the hallway.

“Sami, Shinsuke Nakamura just said I had nice hair.”

“You do have nice hair.”

“But _Nakamura_ liked my hair.”

If it was anyone else saying it, Sami might have been offended, but he knows how much it means to Elise when other people with bold haircuts find hers worthy. Especially someone as revered for coolness as Shinsuke.

 

A burst of unexpected music brings Sami out of his memories, and he snaps back to the present and focuses on the monitor. Dolph Ziggler is approaching the ring, shooing Renee away and hijacking what’s supposed to be a light hearted interview segment between Shinsuke and Renee. Dolph mocks Shin’s English for a minute before launching into wild, made-up story about Nakamura’s past that’s clearly leaving Shin confused as hell, not to mention the audience.

“Is he implying what I think he’s implying?” says a deep voice from across the room, and Sami looks over to see Jimmy Uso, flanked by Naomi and his twin brother Jey. All three are staring at the monitor, incensed.

“Yeah, I think he’s tryin’a say Shinksuke is Michael Jackson, _uce_ ,” agrees Jey.

“Is it racist, and if yes, is it anti-Black or anti-Asian?” Sami askes, absently.

“I dunno if it’s racist, but it’s sure as hell stupid,” declares Naomi, and the three men nod their agreement. Shinsuke seems to be thinking the same thing, because he’s taken the mic away from Dolph and gone on a rant of his own in Japanese. Sami recognises the English word “jackass” before Ziggler tries to get the drop on Shin and gets a beating for his trouble.

“That’s s right, you little punk, you run away,” whoops Jey, and Sami privately agrees. As much as he’d dearly love to stick around and get to know Roman’s cousins, though, he hears Kevin’s music hit, which means The New Face Of America is planning to do yet another stint on commentary. Maybe he’s being paranoid, but something tells him that AJ might need backup tonight. He nods to the Usos and heads to gorilla.

 

***

 

When she was younger, Elise always thought it was _so cool_ when the city-slick movie heroes would sit outside on the loading ramps and fire escapes, having arguments or deep, angsty life chats or just joking around. (Little Elise had a thing for the gritty industrial vibe.)

Now, if you’d told her at the start of the year that one night after work she’d be living out this industrial dream with, of all people, _Baron Corbin_ , she’d have told you to go get your head examined. But then, she’d have also told you that President Voldemort definitely wouldn’t last past February without getting impeached, or that there was no way in hell she was ever going to be able to go to Disney World, so. What the fuck did she know, right?

 

“When did you get so fucking strong?” groans Baron, as he tilts his head back and adjusts the wadded-up tank top he’s using to catch the gush of blood from his nose. Elise rolls her eyes and shoves him forward again.

“Lean forward, not back. Unless you get off on vomiting blood.”

“Fuck off,” Baron grumbles, but he stays hunched forward.

“Guess I didn’t have much to do when Sami had me on lockdown. Mostly went to the gym with Bayley. I’m never going to be skinny, but I can build muscle pretty quick when I’m putting the time in.”

“Lucky me.”

“Hey, if you didn’t want me to break your nose, you should have left when they told you to.”

“Harsh.”

“It’s _truth_.”

“Still harsh.”

“What the fuck were you even thinking, hitting an official?”

“I wasn’t thinking.”

“Damn right you weren’t. You’re going to get suspended, you know that?”

“I know.”

“And fined.”

“I know.”

“You’re lucky I’m not writing this-” she gestures at her rapidly swelling right eye “-up, you realize that? Dodgson gets _super_ pissed when superstars touch his people.”

“I know.”

“You went too far this time, Corbin.”

“ _I know_.”

“Good.” She gives him a final withering glare, then pulls out her phone to check just how bad her face looks right now.

“Do you want me to drive you back to the hotel?”

Elise checks her texts and sighs.

“Yeah. Sami’s gonna be with the trainers for a while longer, he says I should take off without him.”

Neither of them makes a move to leave. They sit there, side by side on the steel landing, until the rough grating begins to cut diamond patterns into Elise’s skin. Finally Baron straightens and tosses the bloodied t-shirt against the wall.

“And you’re adding littering to the list? Really?”

“Could you shut the fuck up for like, five minutes?”

“Waste of a perfectly good shirt. Blood is like, _the_ easiest thing to get out of clothing.”

“I have three others just like it. My tattoo guy sends me them for Christmas.” He looks over at her properly for the first time since they came outside. “You’re bleeding,” he says quietly, his fingertips brushing roughly against the collar of her shirt.

“It’s yours, genius.”

Baron pulls his hand back just a hair too quickly at this revelation, and is on his feet almost immediately.

“Let’s go.”

Elise rolls her eyes and follows him to the car.

 

Sami gets back to their room about an hour after Elise, who’s curled up in bed around her laptop watching _Bill Nye Saves The World_.

“What did the trainers say?”

“I’m fine. They took their fucking time about saying it though.”

“Boooooo.” Elise straightens and sets the laptop on the settee between the beds so they can both see.

“What the fuck is Corbin’s problem?” Sami asks abruptly.

“I mean, you _were_ throwing shade at him about being unlikable-”

“He _is_ unlikable!”

“I know, but did you have to point it out live on air?”

“In case you’ve forgotten, his response to my mild attack on his personality was to slam my head repeatedly against a glass desk.”

 “Look, he’s suspended for a week and he’s being fined more then he can probably afford to lose, so I think it’s safe to say he’s not exactly crowing about his achievement right about now.”

“How do you even know all that?”

“Because I was the one who had to throw him out of the building by his ears tonight. How do you think I got this?” she asks, gesturing to the fresh shiner blooming over her right eye.

“ _Tabarnak_ , Elise. They sent _you_ to do that?”

“Sami, it’s my job. And technically they sent five of us in case the trainers couldn’t get him off the set. Once he was backstage I took point on escorting him from the building. Figured I might have a better shot at calming him down.”

“And how’d that work out?” Sami asks, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Pretty smoothly once I broke his nose.”

Sami’s jaw drops.

“Hey, we’re not hired to look pretty when we enforce rules with the superstars. We save that shit for the patrons.”

They watch the show in silence for a while, running the night’s events over again in their heads.

“I guess I just figured you’d been on my side about this,” Sami says quietly, unable to keep a hint of petulance from creeping into his voice.

“I’m not on anyone’s side! Baron went way over the line, but you provoked him. And you mightn’t have done it on purpose, but given the numerous weeks we’ve had of Dean putting on a clinic of “how to annoy Corbin till he snaps” you must have had _some_ idea this could trigger a backlash.”

“The show’s called _Talking Smack_ , not _Smack the Guests_ ,” Sami huffs.

“Look, do you need anything? Ice, snacks, extra pillows?”

“I think I need a hug.”

“Well then, get your ass over here, you dummy.”

Sami shifts over to sit on her bed, allowing her to wrap her arms around him and fidget with his freshly-cropped hair.

“I wish Finn and everyone were here.”

“I know, sweetheart. I know.”

“Becky and Renee have been great, but they’re not the same.”

“Call them.”

“Call who?”

“Finn. Or Bayley. Or Dean, Cass, Roman, hell, call Seth. They’re probably worried, anyways.”

“I already texted Finn a few minutes ago.”

“Great, so you know he’s awake.”

“I don’t want to bother him-”

“Sami,” she says, cutting him off sharply, “I don’t care if he’s having an orgy with the entire locker room right now, you call him and tell him how you’re feeling.”

“I’m feeling like shit.”

“Don’t tell me that. _I_ already know that. Tell Finn that.”

“ _Câlif, tu es implacable,_ ” Sami mutters.

“ _Oui. Et tu peux aussi abandonner maintenant_ , because I’ve exhausted my French skills for the day and I need to actually wash my uniform before bed.”

“Didn’t you wash it last night?”

“Yep,” she replies, a terrifyingly-forced grin clearly displaying her feelings on having to redo laundry.

“Not going to ask,” Sami says decisively, and finally presses the call button his finger’s been hovering over.

 

***

_April 26 th, 2017_

_Des Moines, Iowa_

 

“Dean, I need your help.”

“Elise! Hey. Are you sure I shouldn’t get Roman? He’s better at plans then I am.”

“Nah, I need you.”

“What’s up.”

“Baron’s got himself into shit.”

“So that bit last night wasn’t staged, huh?”

“Whatever’s going on between him and Sami, it sure as shit isn’t planned or exaggerated.”

“Damnit. Well, a man can dream.”

“Shane’s on the warpath, cancelled his room and his rental car. Baron can barely afford the fine as it is, there’s no way he can cover a car and a room for the week.”

“He can borrow the money for a plane ticket home from Roman. Fuck, Rome would _give_ him the money for something like this.”

“He doesn’t want to go home. Look, I can hide him in my room easy, that’s not the issue. The issue is-”

“-you ride with Sami, or the techs, and neither would be happy with Baron Corbin as a stowaway.”

“You nailed it.”

“If he can get a bus ticket down here, we have an extra bed tonight and Thursday.”

“Finn’s coming to visit Sami on Thursday, and driving me back Friday ’cause I got assigned to work the Pay-Per-View, so Baron can take my room from there to Monday if you’re cool letting him ride with you.”

“He’s my friend. My dumbass friend who can’t keep himself out of trouble, but my friend all the same. I’m gonna help if I can.”

“Are you sure I’m not talking to Roman right now?”

“Woooooow. Someone’s extra savage today.”

“Bitch, that was moderately _sassy_ at most.” Elise snaps back, and Dean can almost hear her eyes rolling at him. “I should go find Baron and fill him in.”

“Watch yourself, okay? He might not mean it to happen, but when you hang around Corbin, you tend to get hurt more than average.”

“For fuck’s sake, I’m an inch taller than Alexa Bliss and I weigh the same as you, Dean. Why does everyone around here insist on treating me like I’m fucking fragile?”

Dean sighs. “Sorry. Just, this whole thing with Strowman and Samoa Joe trying to kill my brothers… I’m a little paranoid.”

Elise’s tone softens. “No, you’re probably just the right amount of paranoid. You guys have got this, okay? See you this weekend.”

“I hope you’re right. See you ’round.”

 

Baron’s not exactly pleased with a plan that includes a heavy dose of reliance on others, but it beats anything he’s managed to come up with so far, so he reluctantly agrees. He’s also less than thrilled about sharing living space with other people; he’d only roomed with Dean because corporate had insisted he had to go with _someone_ and he wasn’t in the position to push back against them yet. He’d been miraculously lucky, really, that Dean _got_ him, and that them rooming together worked out; _Dean_ was in a position to argue and get a single and if he had, Baron really would’ve been screwed. This leg of the tour he’d managed to swing a single by virtue of being the odd man out; who knows what would happen when his suspension was lifted. Still, he supposes he ought to be grateful; not many people would help bail you out of your own stupid mess after you gave them a black eye and bled all over them.

“You didn’t have to pay for the bus ticket,” is what he manages to grunt out, and Elise smirks. She knows a grudging, thickly-veiled ‘thank you’ when she hears one.

“You’re welcome.”

They sit in silence for a while, watching the information board cycle through departure and arrival times.

“Since when was this an _us_ problem?” he asks finally, his brow knitting a bit in confusion as he tries to work out how he ended up letting her plan his escape and pay for his ticket.

Elise considers the question critically. “I’d say since last night? When I had to break my friend’s nose to stop him getting himself fired. You might remember it, I think you were there…”

“We’re… friends?” He’s doing a terrible job at hiding his surprise.

“You’re _my_ friend. Me being your friend is your decision to make.”

“Oh.”

The incessantly cheerful announcer comes on the speakers to inform them that Baron’s bus is boarding Right! Now!!!, so he doesn’t have a chance to respond with anything else before Elise is shoving a bag of snacks in his hand and telling him to stay out of trouble and giving him a quick, tight hug goodbye. The hug shocks him more than anything else that’s happened so far in the last 48 hours. So much so that he doesn’t actually say anything, just grunts and tries to smile and manages a weird grimace that looks like a child with no talent trying to draw a grin.

 

It’s not until Dean’s picking him up and sneaking him up to their room that he realizes he doesn’t even have Elise’s number to text her that he got here safe. Baron Corbin may be bad-tempered and anti-social, but even he knows that’s what you’re supposed to do when you travel. If he’s her friend, he’s pretty shit at it.

 

***

_April 30, 2017_

_San Jose, California_

 

It had been the most fucking awkward dinner ever, and Finn was frankly grateful it was over. Bayley had tried to put on a brave face for her dad, and Finn did his best to try and carry the burden of the conversation, but it was so weird for him to sit there and pretend he was _just_ Bayley’s friend. Even if he agreed with Bayley that breaking it to her father that they were dating, on top of everything else, was just too much tonight.

The tears start as soon as the hotel room door closes behind them.

“Shhhhhh, love. It’s gonna to be alright.”

“I lost. My dad was there, my whole family was there, and I _lost_.”

“I’m sorry, Bayley.”

“It hurts,” she whispers, and for a second he thinks she means her face, still puffy from where Alexa rammed her into the steel post, but he realizes its sting of the loss that’s hurting her most. The emptiness around your waist where the belt should be; the strange lightness of a duffel bag that used to hold that precious lump of metal and gems and leather. He’s felt that pain before, back in Japan and down in NXT and once last summer, flying home adrift and bereft.

He tugs her arm so she’s sitting next to him on the bed, and does what he wished he could have done back then. Finn kisses her, slow and gentle, pouring into it as much love and sympathy and pride for her as his heart can hold. He pulls back when he accidentally bumps the still-tender nose and hears a small hiss of pain escape from Bayley. She leans her forehead against his and just stays there, breathing, for ages. He wraps his arms around her like a shield and waits for her to speak.

“Charlotte was right all along. I can’t defend without Sasha, I can’t win on my own.”

“That’s not true, my love. That’s not true at all.”

“Then what happened out there?”

“It just wasn’t your night.”

“That’s just nice-guy code for ‘Alexa is better than you’.”

“No, _acushla,_ it’s not. Bayley, you may not be the most experienced one here, or have parents who raised you in the business, and maybe you’re _not_ the fastest or the strongest, but you have the biggest heart of anyone on the roster and that’s not just a platitude. People can’t last here without heart, not for long, I’ve seen it. And you are _every bit_ the wrestler that Alexa Bliss is. You’ve reached the top of the food chain, and you got here at the same time as half a dozen other talented women and that means sometimes it’s just not going to be your night.”

Bayley manages a half-hearted smile, then buries her face in his chest. Finn shifts so they’re both lying down, rearranging the pillows and kicking his shoes off so he can get comfortable. Bayley follows his lead, removing her own shoes and her jacket before curling into the nest Finn has created.

“I just… I had this fantasy, it was stupid… when we got together, I had this idea that you’d get your Universal Title back and I’d be Women’s Champ and we could be like, this power couple.”

Finn smooths her hair back and smiles at her. “Hey. If Kevin Owens and Chris Jericho can be co-Universal Champions, so can we.”

“They weren’t _really_ co-”

“Bayley Martinez, will you be the Universal Champion of My Heart? I don’t have a title belt to give you, but I will.”

“Oh Finn,” Bayley begins, starting to cry again, “you don’t need a belt for me to love you.”

“Nor I you, _acushla_ ,” Finn murmers, brushing away the tears and drawing her back in for another kiss.

 

***

 

They’re 10 minutes into the drive back to the hotel when Dean finally speaks.

“Should have gone to get checked out, Ro.”

“Why? So they could make me wait for 4 hours then send me home with some pain meds and tell me I need rest? I don’t need rest, I don’t need meds, I need Braun Strowman’s head on a fucking platter.”

“Rome, that’s my line. I break out of ambulances and pull crazy stunts; you play nice and see the doctor, remember?”

“I’m done playing nice.” There’s ice in Roman’s voice that Dean hasn’t heard since the early days of The Shield, back when they were still just mercs for CM Punk. It’s reminding him of an internet phrase he’s heard Bayley use more then once: _mark me down as scared AND horny_.

Then Roman starts coughing, that thick, wet sound that means something is _wrong_ , and suddenly Roman is doubled over struggling to catch his breath. Dean pulls over to the shoulder and kills the engine, grabbing Roman’s hand and gritting his teeth as Roman’s nails break the skin in the bigger man’s frantic effort to control the panic and breath through the pain.

Every second feels like an eternity, and Dean’s mind is made up long before Roman loosens the death-grip on his hand.

“We’re going to emerg.”

“I’m fine, Dean.”

“Sure. And maybe you’ll wake up fine, or maybe you’ve re-broke your ribs or you’re bleeding inside again and maybe you don’t wake up at all.”

Roman sighs, annoyed, but he doesn’t argue. “They try to separate us, we leave, okay? I don’t want you alone in there, _uce_.”

“I can call Seth, Rome.”

Some of the anger lifts from Roman’s face as he shakes his head. He reaches his hand over and rests it on Dean’s thigh, and Dean can suddenly look past the ferocious warrior who tried to slay the monster tonight and see the battered, vulnerable creature underneath.

“Don’t wanna be alone right now, _uce_ ,” Roman says thickly.

Dean covers Roman’s hand with both of his. “I’ve got you, brotha. I’ve got you.”

At long last Roman nods, and groans as he tries to shift himself into a position when the seatbelt doesn’t feel like it’s crushing him. Dean gives the hand on his thigh one last squeeze before he turns the car back on and heads for the hospital.

 

***

 

It’s weird to Seth that his instinct when he finally racks up a huge victory against his nemesis is to ignore Sasha in favour of drinking alone. Lately, though, everything about his relationship with Sasha has been weird; as if the closer he got to redemption, the deeper the gulf between them. Since he slayed the King at Wrestlemania, they’ve basically returned to pre-RoadblockEndOfTheLine levels of communication. The sex is better, but as a long-term situation… Seth shoves this train of thought aside and tries to focus on the present. There might be a difficult conversation with Sasha looming, but he’s nowhere near ready to have it.

His phone buzzes with text from Dean. Seth answers immediately, jumping at the chance to be useful.

 

**_Dean Ambrose: taking rome to emerg just in case_ **

**_Seth Rollins: do you want me to meet you there?_ **

**_Dean Ambrose: nah bro, i got this. you go celebrate your big win_ **

**_Seth Rollins: okay. Stay in touch, k?_ **

**_Dean Ambrose: got it_ **

****

Seth sighs and shoves his phone back into his pocket. It’s not that he doesn’t _want_ to celebrate his victory, exactly, just that he normally would do that with Dean and Roman and he’s a little lost in their absence.

He’s also potentially stranded, he realizes, surveying the nearly empty carpark. He told Finn and Bayley to take the car and head out right after her match so they could spend as much time as possible with her dad, but he completely forgot to actually ask someone else for a ride after the show. Seth grunts loudly in frustration and heads back inside, hoping _somebody_ will still be around.

Room after room turns up empty, and Seth’s just about given up hope when he hears a muffled panting coming from the pitch-black hallway to his right.

“Fuck, ’Zo,” someone hisses, “we’re going to get caught.”

“Relax, big guy, no one’s gonna be around this late.”

There’s a low groan which must be from Cass _(why do I know that?!?? this is my life now)_ and Seth realises he has an extremely awkward choice before him: walk away and sleep in the arena, or interrupt whatever the fuck is going down in that hallway. His knee picks this moment to remember it hates him and begin throbbing again; sleeping on a bench somewhere is probably not an option.

Nothing for it, then.

“Yo, anyone left back there?” Seth calls, attempting to sound as oblivious as possible. He hears a quiet “shit!” from Enzo and some fabric rustling before Cass calls back “Seth, that you?”

“Yeah. I let Finn take the van and forgot to find a ride.”

“Hold up a sec.” There’s some more rustling, and the sound of a zipper _(please be a jacket, please be a jacket, please be a jacket)_ and then two shadowy figures appear at the entrance to the hallway.

“Whadda we got over here? Shouldn’t you be celebrat’n your glorious victory?” Enzo asks him, grinning. Cass is blushing slightly, but Enzo shows no signs of care or remorse for what’s just happened.

“Got no one to celebrate with.”

“We were probably gonna have some drinks an’ chill. You could join us,” Cass offers tentatively, unsure of how welcome the offer will be.

“I don’t wanna cramp your style, man. I really just needed the ride.”

Enzo shakes his head, dismissing Seth’s concerns. “Nah, you should come hang. Not fair you gotta be alone after a match as good as that.”

Seth can’t really argue with that, and spending a little time getting to know these two sounds infinitely better then drinking alone in his room.

“Can I bring my Playstation?” Seth asks as they had back to the carpark.

“Only if we’re not playing fucking Madden!” Enzo stipulates, and the awkwardness is forgotten as the three of them break out in raucous laughter.

 

Spending the night after Payback playing _LittleBigPlanet_ with the The Realest Guys in the Room definitely wasn’t what Seth had expected, but it ended up being exactly what he needed.

 

***

He’s been hiding in her room since Friday, so to be honest it’s amazing this hasn’t become a problem before. But the booking gods had smiled upon them, and the two hotels before this one didn’t have single rooms available for corporate to book Elise, only doubles, meaning a convenient extra bed for Baron to crash in.

(Aren’t gendered company policies _fun_?)

 

“You’re being an idiot,” Elise declares, for the third time in as many minutes.

“I’ll be fine.”

“It’s not like it’s a twin bed. You _don’t_ need to sleep on the floor, it’s ridiculous.”

“I could move or some shit in the night.”

“You’re hardly going to roll over and crush me.”

The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind, and now it’s immediately added to the list of anxieties about this entire situation.

“You’re a wrestler, haven’t you shared beds with people like a hundred times before?”

“Perk of being almost universally loathed. People usually go out of their way to _not_ share with me.”

“Self deprecation is a dumb look on you.”

“I’m serious. Back when we were in some absurdly small town for a live show and we got roomed in the most pathetic excuse for a motel imaginable, Dolph and Apollo and Kalisto shared a _twin_ bed just so none of them had to sleep with me.”

“Two questions, one: why would they put four of you in a room with two twin beds, and two: people actually talk to Dolph?”

“He cycles back an forth between being everyone’s friend and being an asshole. I ignore him. And the motel didn’t have any bigger beds. None. We asked, loudly. An entire motel which owned nothing but single beds.”

“That’s actual lunacy. I’m never complaining about my rooms ever again.” Elise is quiet for a minute, before jumping up from her perch on the windowsill and springing into action. “Here. I’m settling this now.” She flicks open her suitcase and pulls out a roll of duct tape, then hops up onto the bed and begins taping a solid line down the middle, from the headboard to the carpet. She sits back on her heels, then satisfied, she leaps off and tosses her plushie onto “her” side.

“Why is my side bigger?”

“Because you’re 6’8’’ and I’m 5’1’’ and you were the one whining about not enough space.”

“There’s plenty of space on the floor.”

“If you’re that uncomfortable with sharing, then whatever. Do what you want. But you whine about it tomorrow and I’ll smack you.” She saunters into the bathroom and shuts the door, and he hears the sound of the shower turning on. Baron sits down heavily on the bed. His thighs finally stop burning for the first time all day; idleness did not suit Baron, and he’d been compensating for it by pushing himself too hard in workouts. A quick lie down won’t hurt, he reasons. Just while Elise is in the shower…

 

When she emerges three-quarters of an hour later _(it was a long shift, step off)_ , Elise resists the urge to shake him awake and yell “I told you so” in his face. Instead, she settles for shaking her head silently and curling into a tight ball around Eeyore. With her phone shoved under the pillow (alarm set to vibrate; with luck, she can be awake and out the door without waking the poor boy) she falls into the deep sleep of the vindicated.


	2. Highway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blackmail, bonding, and bloody awful relatives. And that's BEFORE we get to Chicago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be up yesterday as a birthday present to myself, but then my mom called and it was suddenly midnight whoops.
> 
> WARNING: This chapter features some really fucking awful parenting. Also, a character discusses past self-harm and rape culture rears its ugly head. No sexual assault, but some severe violations of consent. 
> 
> On a lighter note: apologies if I’m murdering the way Shinsuke talks. I’m super in love with his accent and I want some of it to come through in the dialogue.

_May 1, 2017_

_San Jose, California_

 

Elise succeeds in waking up and sneaking downstairs to the hotel pool to go swimming, all without disturbing the deeply-slumbering Baron Corbin. By some miracle she even manages to get changed and eat breakfast without him stirring, and now, noisy bit accomplished, she carefully dumps her laptop and her sewing bag on the bed and sits down cross-legged in the middle of “her” side. The duct-tape is a little rumpled, but still mostly intact; Baron evidently slept where he fell, so the sheets didn’t really get moved. Elise cues up 45 minutes of whatever the hell YouTube says she should, smiling gently to herself, then sets to work on the clothing repairs she’s put off for too long.

 

She’s finished everything Sami and Finn asked her to fix, and is halfway through yet another split seam on her ancient leather jacket when Corbin sits up blearily, groaning as his muscles tense in protest.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” he demands, his voice thick with sleep.

“Because I felt petty and it meant I got my way.”

“Crafty bugger.”

“You think you hurt right now, imagine if your dumb ass had actually slept on the floor.”

Baron flips her off and rolls over.

“Need anything fixed while I have all the thread out? Your jeans?”

“They’re distressed. They’re supposed to have holes in them.”

“I meant the pair with the hole big enough for your wallet to fall out and your boxers to show through.”

“You been staring at my ass, Thomson?”

“You want me to fix it or not?”

“Yeaaaaaaaah. Please. Can you do a shirt, too?”

“I haven’t got anything better to do right now. Grab anything you need fixed and put it in the pile.” She nods at jumble of clothing next to her, the messy heap a stark contrast to the neat stack of finished clothes on the settee. Baron groans again, louder, and stands up, kicking open his suitcase and beginning to rummage through it. After a few minutes he tosses the jeans and a some shirts onto the pile, then collapses back onto the bed, this time sans-boots.

“How many people’s shit is in that pile, anyways?”

“Including you, five. It started with me fixing an unravelled seam on Sami’s windbreaker that had been bothering me for weeks, and after that I’ve just sorta fixed anything he needed done. Then Sami told Finn so he begged me to fix some shirts and then Bayley needed a skirt hemmed so Finn asked if he could slip it in with his stuff and Becky saw me sewing in the car last weekend and asked if I could fix leather…”

“Can you?”

She gives him a pointed stare, and he notices the leather jacket in her hands.

“Why was Sami’s jacket bothering _you_?”

“I get a bit obsessive about clothing flaws. Loose threads, lint, tags sticking out, shit like that. Bugs the hell out of me.”

“That’s fucking weird.”

“I’m holding a tri-bladed needle, you might wanna dial down the lip.”

He flips her off again, but doesn’t say anything else. Satisfied she’s gained the conversational upper hand, Elise ties off the thread she’s working with and gets up to take a washroom break. A hideous crunching noise pierces the nearly-silent room as she stands, and Baron rolls over with a start.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Oh, this?” Elise asks, pointing her toes and stretching out her right leg with a flourish. He hears the same awful sound as before, though slower this time. “That’s the sound of bones scraping together.”

“You fuckin’ serious?”

“Yep. Got no cartilage in that knee. Been like that for years.”

“Can you never make that sound again?”

“Can you stop beating up Sami?” she snipes back from the doorway to the bathroom.

“It’s part of my job.”

“This is part of my knee. Believe me, it feels about 500 times grosser then it sounds.”

“That… actually sounds horrible.”

“You get used to it,” she states with a shrug, and shuts the washroom door.

When she returns, Baron’s changed his clothes and is sitting on the windowsill, dicking around on his phone.

“Dean took Roman to the hospital last night.”

“Everything alright?”

“Says they’re both fine, just tired. They’re bailing on lunch.”

“Checks out. Guess we’ll have to walk.”

“This hotel’s in the middle of nowhere.”

“Quit whining, there’s a food truck 20 minutes away with three stars on Trip Advisor.”

“Why have I not punched you yet?”

“Cause it pays to be nice to the help, asshole. Never know when you’re gonna need the rules bent.”

It’s 100% not the reason.

But the real reason is complicated and they’re hungry.

The truth can wait.

 

***

It’s humiliating enough for Bayley to have to stand out here with the rest of the women’s division, biting her lip as Alexa lords over them from atop her golden pedestal. She’s trying to stay professional, even as Alexa sends dig after dig her way. But when she mentions Bayley’s nephews, Bayley’s blood boils over. It’s like her body moves without her brain, like she’s watching herself as she flips the pedestal and goes after Alexa.

It’s not until she’s backstage after the giant tag-team match, sitting on a table flanked by Sami and Finn as the trainer checks her face and neck, that she fully realizes what she did.

“I started a brawl,” she says, her voice filled with wonder.

“That you did, Bayley,” Sami says, and there’s pride in his voice and in the way he pats her back.

“Knocked that bitch right off her high horse,” agrees Finn, and Bayley giggles a little at how silly the insult sounds with the addition of Finn’s husky brogue.

“I ruined her segment. That wasn’t nice.”

“Love, sometimes people don’t deserve nice. Alexa Bliss most definitely qualified.”

The trainer finishes his inspection and hurries off to the next person. Bayley doesn’t move, so Finn and Sami stay put, quietly fussing over her as they wait for her to speak.

“Finn, can I take the car and head back early? I don’t think I feel up to staying till the end tonight.”

“Of course, acushla, but will you be okay alone?”

“I’m fine. Just a little tired,” Bayley lies.

Finn and Sami exchange a worried look over Bayley’s head, then Sami offers, “I’ll come with you, Bayley.”

“No, Sami, you stay. You were so excited to watch the triple threat, I don’t want you cutting your night short ‘cause of me.”

“I can watch the match just as well from the hotel with you as I can from backstage,” Sami insists, and Finn nods his head firmly.

“That settles it,” he declares, and ducks his head to give Bayley a brief, fervent kiss. “Take care of her for me,” he whispers to Sami as he gives the latter a quick hug.

“Go get yours, _sadiqaa_ ,” Sami says firmly, putting an arm around Bayley and leading her to the carpark.

***

 

Seth Rollins doesn’t like surprises. Especially surprises in the ring live on air. He managed to mostly keep his cool in the ring, only throwing a few desperate questions Dean’s way before the triple threat main event Dean came up with was announced. He’s awkward as _fuck_ during the impromptu interview segment, but he has the self-control to wait till the camera is off before he really lays into Dean.

“Dean, what in the _fucking_ hell are you even _doing_?”

“An interview show. I told ya, I think they might give me a network special.”

“Cut the crap, man. What’s your endgame? Calling up Kurt Angle, setting up a match like that, what’s this all about?”

“Look, it’s cool that you and Roman have your little feuds going on, and that you get an entire Pay-Per-View to hash them out. I’m happy for you, I really am. But I’m the only one on this goddamned brand with a title, and I didn’t even get to defend it last night? That pisses me off, Seth. That’s not right.”

Seth sighs. “No. It’s not. Not at all,” he agrees. “I’m sorry I was so uptight earlier.”

Dean shrugs, and then yawns.

“You alright, man? Can’t have gotten much sleep last night.”

“M’fine. Roman’s fine, which is the important thing. And in case it’s stressing you, _we’re fine_. I’ll kick your ass if you win and come after my title, but I’m cheering for you tonight.”

“That… actually means a lot, Dean.”

“I know.”

There’s an awkward pause. They’ve easily fallen back into depending on each other like the old days, but sharing feelings still feels like work.   

“Hey, you hungry? I saw some donuts on the craft services table. You look a little pale, you should eat.”

Normally this is where Dean would make a wise-ass remark about Seth turning into a mother hen like Roman. Instead, he just says, “Thanks, Seth.”

“No problem, man. Gotta watch each other’s backs.”

“No one else fuckin’ will,” Dean agrees, and he’s out the door.

 

***

 

“This is fucking _bullshit_ ,” Dean growls from the back seat as Seth turns the key and the engine springs to life. Seth and Finn couldn’t agree more; there were several outcomes they’d planned for tonight, but Miz pulling a victory out of his ass after they’d both been beat down by their respective rivals was not on that list.

“I’m sorry,” Dean says suddenly, and it takes every ounce of self-control Seth has not to jerk around to stare at him and drive them off the road in the process.

Beside him in the passenger seat, Finn is having a similar reaction. “I don’t follow…”

“I ran my mouth and got you into this mess. It’s kinda my fault, you know?”

“Bollocks, Dean. This was that _mac soith_ Miz’s fault, this was Joe’s fault, this was Bray’s fault. Hell, you could argue this was _our_ bloody fault for not digging deeper to pull out a win. For once the person who’s blameless here is _you_ , Dean.”

Dean still looks uncomfortable, so Seth tries a subject change. “How’s Bayley doing?”

“She’s taking the loss hard, and Alexa crossed the line bringing up the nephews tonight. Those little boys worship Bayley and they cried themselves to sleep last night.”

Dean shakes his head. “That was fucked up, man. I don’t care who you are. Kids are off limits.”

“Do you two wanna come hang in our room tonight? Only for a little bit, I know the flight to Italy leaves at ass-o-clock tomorrow. People seems to be a thing she likes, and I just want her to be fucking happy for a minute or two.”

 “Well, see Finn, there’s this thing you can do with your di-” Dean begins with a drawl, but Seth swiftly cuts him off.

“I could stay awake for a while longer. Dean?” he adds, pointedly.

“Need to check on Roman. Maybe if he’s feeling up to it we’ll drop in for a little bit.”

Finn nods. “Give him my best, eh?”

“Yeah.”

They’ve reached the hotel now. Finn thanks Seth for the ride and slips out, leaving Dean and Seth alone in the car for a second.

“Text me, okay. If you’re not coming. I wanna know you and Roman are okay.”

“You worry too much, Seth,” Dean jokes, with a fond, wry smile.

_Someone around here should._

 

***

_May 2, 2017_

_Fresno, California_

 

It was bad enough for Sami, losing to Jinder Mahal again.

Watching KO beat Jericho to a bloody pulp was somehow worse.

He’d wound up watching with Becky, because the backstage setup of tonight’s venue made it practically impossible to avoid the match all together like Sami was planning. At least if he stood with her, he wasn’t alone. When Kevin pins Chris for the win, Becky reaches out and grabs his hand. When Kevin goes back to the ring to continue to carnage, Sami begins to bite his lip and Becky pulls him into a hug so he doesn’t watch. By the time Kevin gets backstage, Nakamura and Renee have joined them, forming a human shield around Sami that Kevin doesn’t even consider attempting to penetrate.

“I’m fine, guys,” Sami insists sheepishly, as they continue to surround him on his walk to the parking lot. “I’m not scared of him.”

“That’s no reason to tempt fate, Sami,” insists Becky, and Sami has to admit that having his own personal vanguard is somewhat gratifying.

Renee brings yet more reason to the table, pointing out, “we’re all sharing a van tonight. This isn’t even that weird.”

“Where is small one?” Shinsuke asks, and it takes Sami a minute to realise who he’s talking about.

“Around somewhere striking lights. She texted she was on her way. Oh, Shin?”

“Yeaaaas?”

“Don’t worry if she doesn’t say much to you. She can understand you fine, she’s just starstruck.”

“Starstruck?”

“She thinks you’re the coolest person ever and it makes her nervous.”

Shinsuke shakes his head. “I am flattered. I am just okay.”

“Ha. Tell that to Finn,” Becky lilts. “Ever since he went to Japan he’s talked like the sun shines out your ass, Shinsuke.”

Shinsuke smiles. “Finn is, ah, ve-ry kind,” he says with a laugh.

“Elise! Over here!” Sami calls, spotting her as she enters the parking lot.

Elise begins to run over, but then she notices Shinsuke and slows to a slightly nervous speedwalk. “You okay?” she whispers in Sami’s ear as she greets him with their customary hug.

“Been better,” he whispers back, and she nods in understanding. She steps back and looks at Shinsuke timidly.

“ _Kon'nichiwa. Watashi wa hontōni anata ni kanshin suru_.” She enunciates each word with careful precision, like she’s practised it before. Shinsuke’s eyes widen.

“ _Doumo arigatou gozaimasu_ , thank you very much. You speak Japanese?”

“Oh god no. I can’t even speak French. I can say like, five words and the names of my favourite animes and that’s it.”

They’re beginning to pile into the car, and Elise tries not to have a heart attack when the only free seat is beside Shinsuke.

“You watch anime,” he says with a grin, and Elise blushes a little. “No, no shame. Which ones you like best?”

“Cowboy Beebop, definitely. And Full Metal Alchemist, although the manga was better. And… and Fruits Basket. The anime gets a little silly but it was the first manga I ever truly loved so it has that nostalgia factor.”

Shinsuke laughs. “You are like Sami. You say nothing until excited, and then you say everything.”

“Shit, am I rambling? I can shut up. I’m very good at shutting up.”

“No, don’t. I am interested in your words.”

“Wow. Um… okay. Well, see, the thing no one realizes about Fruits Basket is it does some really clever exploration of the relationships between genders,” she begins, launching into an incredibly nuanced interpretation of Akito Sohma’s cross-dressing storyline and how it reflects on the problem of internalized misogyny in modern culture. Shinsuke listens thoughtfully the entire time, even stopping her every so often to clarify a detail or ask her to define a word. From the front seat, Sami watches them in the rearview mirror with a fond smile. He’s filled with the warm, fuzzy feeling that comes with watching two of your friends develop their own independent friendship.

“… and the anime completely cut out that storyline. So it killed a lot of the maturity the manga had. Honestly the characters were just so much less _real_ in the anime, it was a bit disappointing.”

“Very inter-esting.” Nakamura flashes her one of his signature toothy grins and reaches forward to poke Sami in the shoulder. “Sami, we must have a movie night, with this girl.”

“ _You_. Want to watch movies. With _me_.”

“Ah. Sami warned me about this. This is “starstruck”,” Shinsuke says, nodding sagely.

Renee chimes in from Shinsuke’s other side. “Nah, this is Elise believing she’s not worthy of attention because she’s “just security”.”

Elise blushes furiously and ducks her head. “I didn’t think I was that transparent,” she mumbles, lip beginning to shake a little.

“Sweetheart, I don’t mean it as a criticism. We’ll train you to recognize us for the boring normals we are, you mark my words.”

“Speak for yourself Renee. I for one am anything but boring,” Becky quips from the driver’s seat. “But, as the person who keeps us safe every single night, maybe it should be the other way ‘round. Maybe it’s us who don’t deserve to be graced by the presence of such seasoned professional.”

“Come on, Becky. I yell at drunk assholes and break up the occasional shoving match. I’d hardly consider what I do noteworthy.”

Renee snaps her fingers and points at Elise. “See, that right there! The way you deflected a compliment? No. Own it. You’re awesome, and _yes_ Becky should be pointing it out.”

“I keep telling her that,” pipes up Sami, and Renee is swift to reproach him.

“Oh no no no, Sami. The King of Neurotically Low Self-Esteem does not get to harp on Elise Thomson, Canadian Badass.”

“Badass,” Elise repeats thoughtfully. “I think I like that.”

“The Badass, The Lass-Kicker, The Underdog, The Artist; who do you want to be, Renee? In our little WWE Breakfast Club?” Becky asks, and Renee laughs and gives her an adoring look.

Shinsuke shakes his head. “Not Artist. Don’t like,” he declares. “I am, The. King.”

“Renee’s The Workhorse,” Elise says, “and Becky, you should be The Fire. We can’t have two -ass names in one club.”

“Yes, _Elise_! This is why we _need_ you in The Club,” Becky cheers, and Sami laughs and says, “No, not The Club, they’re on Raw and we hate them.”

“Okay, okay, we’ll work on the name before we sell the movie rights,” Becky agrees, and that gets a laugh out of the whole van.

“So am I like, part of the gang now?” Elise asks, emboldened by the praise.

“YES!” shout the other four, and they continue fleshing out Becky’s movie pitch long into the night.

 

After they’ve finally reached the next city and checked into their hotel, Renee brings up the issue that’s been bothering her all night. They’re in the bathroom getting ready for bed, Renee carefully taking off her makeup and Becky applying leave-in conditioner to her traumatized locks.

“So you’re buddies with Charlotte now?” Renee asks, far too casually.

“Love, please. It wasn’t about Charlotte. It was about doing the right thing.”

“I’m not saying you should have joined the Welcoming Committee. You could have just stayed completely out of it.”

“And leave Charlotte alone to deal with those snakes three-on-one? That’s not fair, love. It wouldn’t be right.”

“She had Naomi.”

“Oh, please. Those two were bickering so much you _know_ they were going to get curb-stomped.”

“I’m just not sure I’m comfortable with you signing up to spend this much time with someone you’ve slept with.”

“Renee, baby, it was one time. We were young and incredibly stupid and more than a little drunk. I’m not going to say it meant nothing, but seriously, we’re just friends. Well. I don’t know if we’re friends _now_ , exactly, but whatever we are, it’s platonic.”

“If I told you me and Dasha Fuentes were getting our own network special, I don’t think you’d be this calm.”

“You dated her for three years, and I promise I’d try. I’m working on not being a jealous hot-head, love.”

Renee sighs. “I know. And I appreciate it.”

“I know it might be too weird, _mo stoirín_ , but I think you’d like Charlotte if you hung out with her. Once you get past the bitchy defensiveness, she’s really funny.”

“I’ll think about it, okay?”

“Okay.” Becky leans in for a kiss, and Renee finally smiles and meets her halfway.

“Alright, Straight Fire, let’s see what you got,” Renee rasps in her ear before darting out of the bathroom, and Becky is only too eager to comply.

 

***

_May 4, 2017_

_Bologna, Italy_

Cass has dreamed of Italy since he was old enough to remember dreaming. He grew up dicing tomatoes for his grandma every Saturday, tasting the sauce for her, stirring the pot and making the pasta when she got tired and couldn’t stand for long enough. And all the while, she told stories, painting vivid pictures on his young imagination he remembers to this day.

This whole European tour thing feels unreal, but starting it off in Italy is like all his dreams have come to life. He’s spent every free second of this short stay exploring with Enzo, wandering through tiny hidden streets and going for hikes in the countryside and eating everything they can find.

It’s like an alternate reality, where his life is perfect. He’s so happy, and it’s showing at night, as he takes more and more daring risks when their hotel-room door closes and lights go out. Enzo is the first man Cass has ever been with, and it took a while to get comfortable with things. ’Zo’s been nothing but patient, walking him through everything, letting Cass take it slow, always ready to stop everything and just cuddle instead if Cass gets stressed out. Last night he’d finally felt ready to try penetrative stuff, and Enzo insisted on buying him breakfast this morning as if Cass had done something monumental and brave, when all he’d accomplished was giving Enzo a mediocre orgasm before Enzo blew his mind once again with his skill at blowjobs.

The custard cornetto had been amazing, though. Cass wonders if the food in Italy tastes better because it’s made in Italy or because he’s eating it in Italy.

_It’s probably both._

He can hear the shower shutting off, and the sink beginning to run as Enzo brushes his teeth. He’s so caught up in his thoughts and in the sounds Enzo is making that he almost misses his phone buzzing in the bottom of his duffel bag.

It would have been better, perhaps, if he had.

 

**_UNKNOWN NUMBER: For too long you’ve let your tag team partner hold you back. And now we understand why. [video attached]_ **

**_You have two choices, Colin Cassady. You join us, or this video goes public._ **

**_-Evolution 2.0_ **

 

He opens the video, and a dense ball of fear and revulsion settles itself in the pit of Cass’s stomach. Right away he can tell it’s their hotel room last night; the wallpaper was this really odd shade of green and the carpet had a weird pattern that didn’t line up properly with the hallway.

He watches with growing horror as onscreen, he and Enzo remove more and more clothing until they tumble onto the bed naked. He expects that to be where the video ends. That much alone ending up online could be career-threatening. But it keeps going, the entirety of their encounter caught on video in glorious 1080p. Cass cringes every time the video-version of him tries to look sexy; he looks worse naked on camera then he looks in the mirror. Panic is setting in and Cass feels like he’s suffocating, as the video plays on and on.

 

Enzo has entered the room now, but Cass doesn’t turn around. Enzo comes up behind him and puts his arms around his shoulders, planting a sloppy kiss on Cass’s cheek.

“What you watchin’, Cass?” he asks playfully, and Cass clicks back to the original text message and wordlessly hands Enzo the phone.

Enzo’s face grows darker and darker as he watches, rage simmering under his skin. When the video ends he throws the phone on the bed like it’s to blame.

“He _filmed_ us, Cass. What kind of a _sick_ fuck DOES that?”

Cass hasn’t said anything, hasn’t moved. His face has been frozen in the same expressionless mask since he passed Enzo the phone. Enzo’s used to him being quiet, but this isn’t normal.

“Cass, talk to me, big guy.”

Cass just shakes his head. Enzo kneels in front of him, taking both of Cass’s hands in his.

“Don’t shut me out, Cass. _Please_. Let me help.”

Cass starts to cry. Enzo feels his heart splitting into a million jagged pieces.

“They’ve ruined everything,” Cass sobs, and Enzo surges up to wrap Cass in the tightest hug he can. Cass’s face is pressed up against his chest and Enzo runs his hands through Cass’s hair and whispers meaningless nonsense in his ear, trying to calm him.

The words start tumbling out of Cass through wild, hiccupping sobs. “We got to kiss in Rome. Fuckin’ _Rome_. Five years ago I thought I’d never leave the States, and then here I am going to Italy with Enzo Amore and Enzo _fucking_ Amore loves me and they’ve ruined it. All of it.”

“No. Cass, this is bad. But we’ll figure it out, man. We’ll get through it.”

“How, ’Zo?” Cass asks, taking Enzo by the shoulders and pushing him away to hold him at arm’s length. For the first time since he saw the text, Enzo starts to feel fear.

“Cass, I’m gonna need you to clarify.”

“How we goin’ to get through? He posts that video and my life is over, ’Zo. Over.”

“Look, Cass, worse things could happen then people knowing we’re together. It’s 2017. It might get a little awkward backstage, but we’re friends with the Big Dog. Anyone tries anything and Roman will kick their ass _for_ us.”

“’Zo. My grandma is eighty-four and the most devout Catholic you’ve ever met. My dad beat my ass in grade school for saying people should marry whoever the fuck they wanted. My mom still cries about my hair sometimes because she thinks it makes me look like a girl. They find out I ain’t straight, and not only that, but I’m having gay sex with that little kid from the b-ball court they trusted _and_ the entire fucking world knows about it? I’d never see them again, ’Zo. And I think I choose you over my parents, ’Zo. Who knows, maybe they get over it with time. But my grandma’s got a few years left, tops. I blow up that relationship, I ain’t got time to fix things with her.”

“Okay.”

“What do you mean, “okay”? WHAT PART OF THIS IS FUCKING OKAY?!” screams Cass. He immediately regrets it; none of this is Enzo’s fault and he’s taking it out on him and he can’t stop himself.

“It’s okay. That you don’t want them to know. I love you, Cass. I know I said that before, but I don’t think I truly knew what that meant until now. I never want you to have to choose between me or your family. I love you, and that means I’ll do anything to make sure you don’t get hurt. And that includes breaking up our tag team.”

“Break up the team.” Cass’s voice is flat.

“Yeah. I think that’s what we gotta do, Cass. They said it right in the text. You join Evolution, and this all goes away.”

“I’d be giving up everything I am. Everything I stand for. To save myself, I have to lose myself.”

“No.” Enzo’s tone is firm, and he’s more serious then he’s ever been in his life. “That’s not going to happen. Because I’m going to be there with you.”

“I don-”

“Not in the ring. And not backstage. We’re gonna have to sell this as a full breakup if they’re gonna fall for it. But everywhere else. I promise.”

“You think it’ll work?”

“If Dean Ambrose can pull off pretending to be married to Renee, we can fool Triple H and the rest of his bone-heads into thinking you’ve betrayed me to join them.”

Cass still isn’t sold. “And then what. I’m still in his fucking group, I still gotta follow his orders.”

“And while you’re in there, you’ll be feeding us information. Our own little mole. Like the mafia, you know? You’ll be our undercover cop, and sooner or later we’ll destroy them from the inside out.”

“I just… my first time, Enzo. You’re supposed to remember shit like this. Now I’m afraid I’m never going to forget about it.”

“Maybe he’s ruined these memories, Cass. But we can make new memories. _I promise_. We can come back here and visit again, fuck, we could retire here if you want. I’d go live in a cardboard box in Antarctica after we retired if it meant being with you.” Enzo’s crying too, now, both of them sobbing in each other’s arms like a pair of babies.

“I don’t want to break up the team.”

“Neither do I. But you can go so far by yourself, Cass. And I’ll be right beside you, hiding in the wings.”

“I love you, ’Zo,” Cass whispers, and grips Enzo tightly as Enzo reaches for the phone.

“I know. It’s why I’m doing this for you,” he whispers back, and before Cass can change his mind and stop him he types out the five word text that’s going to change their world forever.

 

**_Colin Cassady: Could have just asked nicely._ **

 

***

_May 8, 2017_

_An airplane_

 

Whatever your feelings on the brand split, spare a thought for the poor bastard who has to plan the logistics for the overseas tours now. Especially when neither the security nor the tech crew have hired enough extra people to keep up with the new schedule. If someone gets sick or you didn’t put enough people on the shift, it’s not so easy to put an extra guard on a trans-Atlantic flight to go help out as it is to just have someone hop in a car and drive a few hours.

 

“I thought they would have put you on the Europe tour,” Sami says as they pick their seats. There’s a free pair by the window, which pleases Sami; they’ll be arriving in time for him to see the sunset over the city as they land.

Elise shakes her head. “They put me on Latin America. I wanted Europe but Dodgson’s staying stateside this time and he doesn’t want me on the same tour as Nia and Samoa Joe without him there to keep an eye on things.”

“He’s got a point.”

“I know. And Costa Rica will be fun. It’s just annoying to have my schedule being dictated by that bitch.”

 

Across the aisle, Becky is making a conscious effort to bring Naomi and Charlotte together by insisting they sit together. So far, things have remained surprisingly civil.

“I hate flying,” Charlotte says haughtily. “My ears pop and there’s always a fucking baby screaming it’s head off.”

“I love it. I used to be an air hostess.”

“I _know_ ,” snaps Charlotte.

“Naomi doesn’t.”

Naomi is intrigued. “Why’d you leave? It sounds like a great gig.”

“I missed wrestling.”

“Do you ever miss flying?”

Becky shrugs. “Not really. I still get to travel loads now.”

“Charlotte, what did you do before wrestling?”

“Training,” Charlotte growls, and Becky and Naomi exchange eye rolls.

“Fine. We can cut the chit-chat for now so the Queen can get her beauty sleep,” Becky declares, and Charlotte starts to snap at her again but changes her mind and pulls out her sleep mask.

“There’s plenty of time to talk strategy once we land,” Naomi reassures her once Charlotte’s headphones are in place. “And it’s only a one-on-one match between you and Natalya. We’re just coming out with you to make sure there’s no funny business.”

“Those snakes are going to try something, I can feel it. I’d just be calmer if we were all on the same page.”

“We’ll get there, Becks. Don’t worry about it.”

 

***

_May 8, 2017_

_London, England_

 

When Kurt asked Dean to be acting General Manager, Dean should have expected Stephanie was going to ruin it somehow. Still, her appointment of The Miz as the co-GM shocks him a bit, and a good deal of his plans go out the window as they enter a battle of wills.

(He _would_ get blindsided the one time he actually has a plan.)

Finn has his back and kicks Miz’s ass in the first match of the night, just as they planned, and by the time Kalisto and Strowman’s match is about to begin Dean’s almost starting to relax. Then Strowman yells he doesn’t want a match but starts beating up Kalisto anyways and Dean is now freaking out a little.

“It’s okay, babe,” Roman whispers, coming up behind Dean and nuzzling him from behind for a quick second. “I got this.”

Dean almost chastises him; they’re less then two feet from the tech monkeys, and who knows who’s watching them right now. But he doesn’t have time, because Roman’s music hits and he’d gone, stalking down the ramp to take his revenge on Braun Strowman.

Big Cass appears at his side just at the brawl gets really brutal. “You’re doing good, Dean,” he say quietly. “Roman’s got this.”

“I hope so,” Dean mutters, as Strowman catches Roman with a boot to his injured shoulder. “You ready to get out there?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“You okay, Cass?” Dean asks, catching and holding the taller man’s gaze for a moment.

“Not… not really. It’s complicated.”

“I can’t promise good advice, but if you need to talk…” Dean offers, and Cass nods.

“Thanks,” he mouths, as the entire tag roster crowds into gorilla and Enzo drags him away for a last-minute strategy meeting. Dean flashes him a grin before darting to Roman and greeting him with as platonic a hug as he can manage. Roman hisses as Dean bumps the ribs.

“Shit,” Dean mumbles, and Roman shakes his head.

“It’s fine, uce. Just need some ice and a few more painkillers, be fine by tomorrow.”

“You better be,” Seth quips, joining them as the tag teams clear out to the ring. “You promised you’d both come to the Tower of London with me.”

“God, Seth, you’re such a nerd,” Dean teases, and Seth sticks his tongue out at him.

 

Later the next afternoon, Roman will pinpoint this as the exact moment the entire night begins to go to shit. He’ll drag both his injured brothers out of bed so they can meet Finn and go have dinner with Sami before his show, and they’ll grumble a bit to Sami about Bray and Samoa Joe and then have a really nice time out. The irony that it was _him_ they were all worried about tonight will not be lost on Roman, as he helps Seth get his knee brace over the swollen mess that has replaced his joint and dabs some fresh antiseptic gel on the cut on the back of Dean’s head from when Miz whacked him with the title.

 

But tonight, he just pats Seth’s shoulder and says “Go get him, _uce_.”

 

***

_May 10, 2017_

_London, England_

 

If you only have 10 days to bond with someone, a whirlwind jaunt around London isn’t a bad place to start.  

“Jimmy’s going to kill me,” Naomi moans, looking at the price tag on the pair of jeans Charlotte forced her to try on. The three ladies are crammed into a dressing room at Selfridges, critically examining the jeans in question. They started the day doing all the touristy shit Becky planned out, but after the London Eye and Trafalgar's Square Charlotte and Naomi had gotten bored and dragged her here. At least those two were finally agreeing on _something_. 

“I warned you, don’t try anything here on without checking the price,” Becky lilts, shaking her head. 

Charlotte crosses her arms. “They look perfect on her.” 

“You’re right, but that’s not the point.” 

Naomi surprises everyone by shushing them both loudly. “We’re finally bonding. Don’t you two start bickering and ruin it all. Besides, I let Jimmy buy the new YEEZYs. He can’t get  _too_  mad at me without becoming a hypocrite.” 

“Are you ladies ready to hit the Wonder Room?” Charlotte asks, her face lighting up a bit. 

“Oh god, I didn’t think you were serious about that,” Becky protests. Charlotte clicks her tongue derisively. 

“No one’s forcing you to buy anything, Becky,” Naomi points out, and Charlotte frowns. 

“ _I_  am. Becks, when was the last time you bought something for yourself that wasn’t for a press conference?” 

Becky opens her mouth to respond, but finds she doesn’t actually have an answer. 

“Thought so,” Charlotte declares triumphantly, and crosses her arms stubbornly. 

“I know what she'll like,” Naomi says, carefully folding the expensive jeans and tugging her own leggings back on. “And we're not leaving till she tries on at least one pair.”

Charlotte looks Naomi up and down, considering. “You know, I think I'm starting to like you.” 

Becky's wallet hurts by the time they finally leave Selfridges, but  _damn_  do the chunky steampunk combat boots Charlotte and Naomi picked out for her look  _good_. 

 

***

 

A quick Tube ride away, Sami and Shinsuke are wandering around Hyde Park. They’d started their day with Finn and Bayley, but Bayley had gotten distracted at the Oxford Street Lush store and Finn, relieved to finally see Bayley smile again, was eager to indulge her. Sami had picked up a few things he thought the Smackdown ladies might like, and then he and Shin had dipped out, promising to meet up with the other two for dinner before their respective flights left.

They’ve reached the Serpentine Lake, and Shinsuke allows Sami to take a quick picture of him with the swans when no one seems to be watching.

“I don’t want to look like a Japan stereotype.”

“So don’t do a peace sign.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Shin informs him haughtily, shifting into his signature “King of Strong Style” pose as Sami lines up the frame so he gets the optimum number of swans in the background.

“Wait, let me take one more,” Sami begs, “there were random people behind you.” Shinsuke sighs but gets back into position. “Hurry up, Sami. I feel silly.”

“You look badass. Jesus, can you even take a bad photo?”

Shinsuke pouts and sticks has tongue out at this, and Sami snaps one last pic before Shinsuke can grab the phone away. Sure enough, instead of coming off as petulant or awkward, the photo just makes him look adorkable.

They sit down on a bench together and take in the view for a moment. “Don’t we know, them?” Shinsuke asks, gesturing to the “random” people standing nearby.

Sami squints a bit against the sun. “Wait, actually, I think that’s Tyler Breeze. So the other guy is probably Fandango.”

They keep sitting there, watching the water ripple as the swans paddle across the lake. Tyler and Fandango are tossing frozen corn to the swans on land, horsing around and giggling as they collect quite a fanbase of waterfowl.

“Those two seem very close.” Shinsuke says quietly.

“Do they?” Sami asks absently, taking another look at the pair. They certainly seem comfortable with each other, touches lingering longer then generally would be considered platonic.

“I wonder if they know.”

Sami is curious now. “Know what?”

“That they like each other.”

“They’re a tag team. Of course they like each other.”

“No, I mean… _suki_ , _koi_. How do I say in English? … love-like.”

“Oh.” Sami watches as Tyler tosses corn at Fandango, laughing. Fandango catches him in a playful headlock, ruffling Tyler’s hair, then gently smoothing it back into place. “Huh.”

“You’ll see. I’ll be right.”

“Since when did you become such an expert on other people’s romantic destinies?”

“I move to America, get Netflix. Very informative.”

“Have you watched Moonrise Kingdom yet? You’d like it.”

“We can watch in airport tonight.”

“I can’t believe we’re flying out in like, 9 hours. We just got here.”

“No time to waste, then,” Shinsuke says with a grin, hopping back up and pulling Sami to his feet. “I want to find Jelly Baby Family.”

“You better buy me real jelly babies after this,” Sami says in mock protest, and Shinsuke slaps an arm around his shoulders.

“Who need jelly baby when I found pocky?”

“Shin, you’re tooooooooo sweeeeeeeeeeeeet,” Sami yells, laughing, and he races away down the path before Shinsuke can smack him for his impertinence.

 

***

 

Baron isn’t exactly sure how he ended up in the oldest toy store in the world with a 5’1” ball of energy, but he’s here and he’s kind of enjoying himself.

Elise had knocked on his door this morning, sensibly dressed for adventure and insistent that he was joining her. They spent most of the morning irritating the guards at Buckingham Palace, before riding the Tube for a while so she could point out interesting stations and then “coincidentally” getting off near the world-famous Hamley’s.

“How do you know so much about London, anyways?” Baron asks as Elise sifts through the pick-and-mix Lego, looking for the perfect combination of pieces to try and build Finn a tiny Mario Bros. Piranha plant.

“My dad’s from England. I’m half-Cornish. Been here a few times to visit.”

“Huh.”

Elise straightens up, satisfied with her bag of pieces, and they meander their way to another floor. This particular area features stuffed animals, and Elise feels her resolve to spend a rational amount beginning to crumble slightly as she brushes her fingers over adorable teddy bears and whimsical plushies.

“So, big question,” Baron says, hands behind his back as he wanders over from another aisle. “Are you a fairy, or a pirate.” He brings his hands forward, revealing a fairy teddy bear in one hand and a pirate bear in the other.

“I’m so a pirate,” Elise declares, making grabby hands. Baron can’t help himself; he grins as he hands over the bear. Elise hugs it tightly, then checks the price tag and frowns.

“I’m buying it,” Baron says quickly, and Elise gives him a look like he’s grown two heads. “I owe you for the bus ticket.”

“You know, I just don’t get you, Baron Corbin.”

“What?”

Elise looks around to check there are no children nearby, then lowers her voice to a harsh whisper. “You pretend like you’re this unfeeling, uncaring jackass but it’s _bullshit_ , Baron. You say you don’t give a shit about anyone but I saw how freaked out you got when Dean got hurt, Dodgson showed me your apology letter to that ref you hit. Those weren’t an act, you were _sorry_.”

“I don’t want to care. Caring makes things complicated.”

“What’s so different about Sami? Dean never stayed down. Dean poked at you even more. How is Sami setting you off worse?”

“I don’t know. Do you think I haven’t been trying to figure that out?”

“Maybe it’s not Sami, then.”

“Maybe. Or maybe it’s both. Dean… he knew how to set me off but… I think he also knew how to pull me back. And… maybe **it’s** getting worse.”

“It?”

“The Wolf. It’s… what I call the angry part I can’t keep a lid on. I dunno. Dean called it that one day and it just kinda stuck.”

“It’s funny. I used to call my depression the Raincloud.”

“Your obsession with Eeyore suddenly makes sense.”

“Have you seen anyone about this?”

“No. It’s fine for you Canadians with your communist healthcare, but down here some of us need our paycheques to eat.”

“Socialist.”

“Huh?”

“Communism is rubbish. We have _socialist_ health care.”

“Whatever. I thought I’d picked careers where it didn’t matter if I exploded every once and a while. Was a good thing, even.”

“Never caring about anyone is a shit way to live.”

“It was working till Dean fucking ruined it.”

“Right,” Elise deadpans, “ _he_ ruined things by being nice to you. Watch out, I bought cake for the flight tonight. Don’t let me share with you or I might ruin your life.”

“You’re oversimplifying,” Baron grumbles.

“No, _you’re_ over _complicating_ ,” she snaps back.

“Why do you even care?!”

“Because it pisses me off that I have to split up my limited free time and hang out with you separately from everyone else.”

“Then why bother?”

“Because if I didn’t you’d be alone 24/7 and I wouldn’t have someone to do crazy stupid shit with.”

They’ve reached the checkout now. The bored teenager behind the till gawks a bit as Baron, imposing as usual in ripped jeans and a metal tee, hands over his credit card to pay for the bear. Elise manages to keep a completely straight face as she pays for her Lego and leaves, but breaks down into a fit of giggles as they reach the pavement.

Baron shakes his head at her. “I’m serious about taking you to do graffiti when we get back to the States. It’s an important milestone for the budding degenerate. Here, take your pirate.”

“I’m a heathen, not a degenerate,” she specifies, cradling the bear to her chest. “And I’m in America on a visa, remember?”

“If we get caught, you say I forced you to do it.”

“That’s lying.”

“Yep. Useful skill. The President does it all the time.”

“Ouch.”

“You named the bear yet?”

“Godric.”

“You’re a fucking nerd.”

“And you’re a fucking softie.”

“You tell anyone about this, that bear will turn up missing an arm, you hear?”

“I can sew him a peg-arm. Checkmate.”

Baron groans, afraid he’ll come to regret this lapse in bravado.

“Cheer up, Corbin. I promise to use my power over you for good.”

 

She’s going to keep her promise in the long run.

But in the short term, he’s going to spend a great deal of time wondering if she’s the literal incarnation of Satan sent to punish him for his sins.

 

***

 

_May 16, 2017_

_Manchester, New Hampshire_

 

The mood backstage after Naomi loses to Charlotte can best be described as “strained”. Despite their significant progress bonding, the Welcoming Committee was still one step ahead of them, and it rankles.

They sit side by side on the locker room bench, stewing, before the silence is suddenly broken by a chuckle from Becky.

“I don’t see anything about this situation that’s funny, Lynch,” Charlotte growls.

“I can’t believe _James Ellesworth_ thinks we were sweet on him” Becky is now _dying_ of laughter, and Naomi isn’t far behind her, breaking into a fit of giggles loud enough to wake the dead.

“The man looks like a combination of ET and a thumb” Becky continues, and that’s enough to get Charlotte to stop glowering and crack a smile.

Naomi stops giggling long enough to gasp out “I’m married, for God’s sake!”

Charlotte’s finally laughing. “I’m divorced and I wouldn’t touch that _thing_ without gloves and a twenty-foot pole.”

“ _I’ve_ been making eyes at _him_? I don’t even like men!” Becky blurts out, and that gets a raised eyebrow from Naomi and a smug look from Charlotte.

“Huh,” says Naomi, finally catching her breath. “I ain’t meant to spread that around, right?”

“Please don’t.”

All three girls go quiet for a moment, lost in their own thoughts.

“Maybe it doesn’t matter who wins at Backlash,” Becky muses aloud.

Charlotte is quick to scoff. “Of course it matters. Winning _matters_. That’s why we’re here, to _win_.”

“Okay, but isn’t it more important to win fairly? We have a chance here, we can take this division back from the snakes who are willing to cheat and lie for titles. And all we have to do is stick together.”

“You’re saying we stay friends after Backlash.”

“ _Yes_. We could be like our own little Justice League.” Becky’s face lights up as the idea takes shape in her mind. “Fire, Royal, and Glow, bringing honour and glory back to the Smackdown Women’s Division.”

“But I can still go after her title?” Charlotte confirms, jerking her thumb at Naomi.

“Oh, you can come for it, but you ain’t gonna get it for a good, long time!”

“Friends.” The word feels almost foreign in Charlotte’s mouth.

“Been a while, eh Flair?”

“Oh, fuck off Becky.”

“So, win or lose, we have each other’s backs?” Naomi asks, stretching her hand out in front of her, palm down. Charlotte and Becky look at her, and then at each other; a long, searching gaze, sizing each other up. Weighing the good history against the bad and coming to a decision.

“Win or lose,” Charlotte agrees, putting her hand on top of Naomi’s with a firm _thwack_.

“Win or lose,” echoes Becky, adding her hand to the pile.

“We have to get out there for Talking Smack in a minute,” Naomi points out, when no one makes a move to pull their hand back.

“Justice League on three?” Becky suggests. Charlotte rolls her eyes but smiles in spite of herself. “One, two,” _please please don’t let this be horrifically awkward_ , “three…”

 “JUSTICE LEAGUE!”

***

_May 19, 2017_

_Chicago, Illinois_

 

It’s the Friday night before Backlash, and the atmosphere backstage has reached a new level of tense. There’s been almost daily skirmishes between the Welcoming Committee and Becky’s crew, and AJ Styles got into a shouting match with Dolph yesterday when Ziggler went on yet another rant about Shinsuke’s lack of skill.

(Sami still doesn’t like AJ much, but he appreciated someone with first hand experience in Japan coming to his friend’s defence.)

Management, in their _infinite_ wisdom, had assigned Sami to share a room with _Kevin Owens_ this weekend, so Elise had immediately asked for an extra key to her room and slipped it to him.

“What the fuck were they thinking?” she’d asked, and Sami had to laugh.

“I don’t think they _were_ thinking, _chère_ ,” he’d replied, and that had gotten a laugh out of her.

 

Right now, he’s trying to focus on the movie Nakamura picked, but his mind keeps wandering to the match on Sunday. It’ll be his first Pay-Per-View on the Smackdown roster, and he needs this win. Needs to prove to Shane and Daniel and himself that they didn’t make a stupid choice bringing him over here. That he’s not just an underdog, he’s a legitimate threat.

Elise’s voice cuts through his reverie. “I can’t _believe_ I’d never seen Princess Mononoke. Hayao Miyazaki can do no wrong.”

“I can’t believe Sami, has not seen Spirited Away.”

“We’ll fix that,” Elise insists, then yawns. “Although, maybe not tonight.”

Shinsuke laughs and finds his shoes. “Sleep well, friends.”

“Spar in the morning?” Sami asks, and Shinsuke laughs again.

“You will wear self out, Sami. But yes, for a little bit. Text me,” he adds, and with a wave and a grin he’s heading out the door to his own room.

Elise yawns again and flops back on the bed, peeling off her hoodie to reveal pyjamas beneath. Sami heads to the washroom, changing into sweatpants and brushing his teeth meticulously, hoping the familiar repetitive motions will sooth his frayed nerves.

It doesn’t seem to have worked, because when he lies down Elise immediately offers him a hug. He accepts, sheepish, and she wraps her arms around him and smooths his hair gently.

“Can I ask you something?” Sami whispers nervously.

“’Course you can.”

“Who’s side are you on?”

Elise sighs and shakes her head. “I told you, I’m not on anyone’s side.” She pauses and reconsiders. “Actually, no. I am. Baron’s an amazing athlete, but he’s here to hurt people and go home. And that’s not _wrong_ , because that’s what he’s paid for. But you, Sami? You turn this into art, you go out there night after night and you’re beautiful, you’re bloody brilliant, and so yes, do I want you to win in that ring every single fucking time you go out there? Absolutely. But Corbin’s my friend, too. And if he wins, I’ll be happy for him.”

“What is it that you see in him?”

“Me.”

“You.” He rolls the word around in his mouth for a moment, like he doesn’t fully comprehend why it’s there.

“Myself from before. Before escitalopram, before therapy, before doctors, before x-rays and a psychologist. I didn’t know what the fuck anxiety was. I didn’t know teenagers could have arthritis, or that knees could wear out before the age of 50. All I knew was my body hurt. _All the fucking time._ And no one who was supposed to help me would believe me. So I had panic attacks, but for all I knew I was just casually having a heart attack once a week. Mom said suck it up, so I did. And then in college I started having these fits of rage. All-consuming. Uncontrollable. They came out of nowhere, for no reason, and it was fucking terrifying. I’d scream, if no one was around… Sami, human voices aren’t supposed to sound like that. Those fits were panic attacks too, though it took a few more years for people to realised that panic looked different sometimes. Maybe if I was someone else, I would have hurt other people. But I’m me. So I started hurting myself.”

Sami pulls back and stares at her, shocked. “Elise, I had no idea-”

“You weren’t supposed to. I was clever about it. I even fooled myself, taught myself to think that wasn’t what was really happening. I was just “clumsy with the nail clippers”. I’d just “scratched an itch a little to hard”. I was cunning and careful and it left no scars. If there were scars, that meant I was one of _those people_.”

“Those people?”

“Mentally ill. Psychotic. Lunatic. Madman. It all meant the same thing to my family: broken.”

“Is it inappropriate for me to wish for your family to be cursed with perpetually damp socks?”

“As long as you leave Lisa, Shannon, and Holly out of it. Those three are the only reason I talk to anyone else in my family anymore. Well, and Grandma. I like Grandma.”                                   

“Got it. No cursing female cousins or the grandma.”

“I’m sorry, Sami. That was a really heavy answer to a simple question.”

“It’s okay. I’m grateful you shared.” This time it’s Sami offering the hug, and Elise accepts without hesitation. “You… you don’t do it anymore, right?”

“Hurt myself? Not purposefully, no. Not for a while.”

“Good.”

“I don’t know what’s up in Corbin’s head. I dunno if _he_ even knows. He doesn’t mean to cross the line. It just sometimes happens. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t have to take responsibility for the fallout, mind you. But… I can’t bring myself to get mad at him about it.” _Not when I see how much it fucks him up._

“We really are the oddest little band of freaks, aren’t we?” Sami asks with a rueful sigh.

“But we mostly love each other. That’s what matters, right?”

“I guess.”

There’s a knock on the door, and Elise gets up to answer it.

“Um. I’m out of Icy Hot and the drugstore is closed.” Baron awkwardly fills the entire doorframe, and Elise shakes her head before kicking her suitcase open and grabbing her box of patches.

“You’re going to need more then one, aren’t you?” she asks, feigning annoyance as she shoves the box his way. Baron sheepishly takes two before his eyes land on Sami.

“Zayn,” he says, his tone frigid.

“Corbin,” Sami replies, glaring. Elise looks between the two of them for a second before throwing her hands in the air with a growl of frustration.

“Enough! I’m _sick_ of this! You’re fucking numbskulls, the pair of you. Honestly, what are you even fighting about?”

Both of them just stare at her, shocked. Neither one actually has a good answer.

“Exactly. That’s what I thought.” She takes a deep breath, drawing herself up to her full height and rounding on Baron with that same determined glint in her eyes that Sami saw the night of The Knife Incident. “I’ll make you a bet. You win at Backlash, and I never bug you about beating Sami up again. But if Sami wins, you two have to hang out together for an afternoon and participate in an activity of my choosing. I’ll be there as a moderator.”

“Don’t I get a say in this?” demands Sami, and Elise rounds on him.

“I’m placing my bet on you winning and this is for your own good, so shut up and shake on it.”

Sami almost protests, but she makes a compelling argument. He stands up and extends a hand to Baron, who shakes it with a grip firm enough to break fingers.

“Good. When this is all over you two can learn to leave your beef in the ring and I can get some fucking peace around here.”

“Not a chance, Thomson. I’m gonna to hit him with an End of Days and you’re gonna stop trying to get me to be social.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Talk is cheap Corbin, Icy Hot is not. You owe me,” she retorts, patting the patches in his hand just a touch more aggressively then necessary. Baron sticks his tongue out and vanishes, leaving a bewildered Sami in his wake.

“What did you just do?”

“Used my power for good, Sami. Used my power for good.”

 

***

_May 21, 2017_

_Rosemont, Illinois_

 

Sami’s in the middle of wearing a hole through his dressing room’s carpet when he’s interrupted by a sharp rap on the door.

“Shinsuke!” he exclaims, opening the door to let his friend in. “What are you doing here? You have a match in like, five minutes.”

“Five minutes I can spend wishing my friend good luck.”

“Shin, you should be focusing on Ziggler.”

“Jackass does not deserve more of my time then what he gets in match.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Sami says with a shrug, and goes back to wearing out the carpet. “I think I’m ready. And you believe in me, Finn believes in me, even Elise believes in me, but you never know. Maybe Corbin pulls out a new move and I don’t have the counter or maybe I land a dive wrong or maybe I go for a Helluva Kick and get my feet stuck in the ropes or-”

“Sami! Calm down.” Shinsuke is shaking his head, a grin dancing across his lips.

“Right. Remain calm. I can do that.”

“You sure?”

“Maybe.”

“Trust yourself, Sami Zayn. Good luck.”

“Go kick his ass, Shinsuke.”

Shinsuke gives him a small bow. “Your wish. My command.”

 

***

 

“I tapped out.” Becky’s curled in a corner, cross legged, running her hands through what little of her hair is loose right now. She’d be crying, if she had any energy left to cry. As it is, she’s fully occupied in blaming herself for their loss, cursing the moment she asked for the match and preparing for both of them to hate her for eternity.

“I need to say something,” Charlotte barks, and Becky braces herself for a tirade. Naomi is clearly preparing to cut Charlotte off, but her next sentence shocks Naomi into silence.

“I’m sorry.”

Becky’s equally shocked. “What?”

“For what my father did at the Rumble last year. It was gross and it was a violation and there’s no excuse.”

“You’re not the one who needs to apologize for that.”

“I’ve been shit to you and there was no need. We’re adults. Titles come and go. I realise that now. What matters is the people who stick around when you lose.”

“Are you saying-”

“That I still have your back? Yeah. _Both_ of your backs. This shit with the Welcoming Committee? Far from over. It’s not over until each and every one of those _bitches_ recognizes us for the champions that we are.”

Becky can’t help herself. She leaps up and launches herself at Charlotte, wrapping the tall blond in a fierce hug.

“I missed my best friend,” she whispers quietly.

Charlotte smiles into her fiery braids. “Missed you too, Becks. Missed you too.”

 

***

 

“Now that I’ve won, I have to ask,” Sami begins, as they drive through the night to the next city. “Were you serious about making Corbin and me hang out?”

“I’m always serious about forced bonding activities, Sami. I take my role as a friendship facilitator very seriously.”

Sami taps at the steering wheel. “But like, in what universe does this end well?”

Elise sticks her feet up on the dash, pulling out a bag of gummie bears and tearing the head off one thoughtfully. “The one where I have a plan.”

“Do I get to know this plan?”

“That would be cheating, Sami.” She pops the decapitated bear into her mouth and shoves the bag his way. “Here, eat some sugar. Can’t have you falling asleep like the rest of them.” She jerks her head towards the back of the van, where Shinsuke, Becky, Renee, and Charlotte are all passed out.

“Cut them some slack. They fought hard tonight.”

“So did you, Sami. And I’m proud of you. I want you to remember that, because the plan involves you potentially hating me for a bit.”

“What the fuck do you have in mind?”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret, Sami. Don’t tell Corbin I told you this, he might claim you had an unfair advantage. The trick to making two competitive guys who keep butting heads hang out without it coming to blows is _you have pick an activity they both suck at_.”

“What are you getting me into, _chère_?”

“Don’t even worry about it,” she replies with a truly wicked grin. “Another gummi bear? The blue ones taste like panic.”

 

From the back seat, Shinsuke Nakamura watches them with eyes barely open.

 _I wonder if they know_ , he thinks.

_I wonder._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession: I delayed this chapter until we saw how the Enzo/Cass storyline panned out on television. You didn’t actually think I’d let that breakup stand, right?  
> Some of you have been hinting you’d like to see a certain paring in this fic. Let’s just say… WWE has been making us sad, so I think I’m going to try and make you happy.


	3. Epilogue: Little Lion Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elise collects on her bet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally going to be the opening scene of my next fic, but it didn’t feel right. So even though I said this fic was done, here, have an epilogue!

_May 24, 2017_

_Toledo, Ohio_

 

When she saw how badly Sami got hurt from Baron’s attack last night on Smackdown, Elise almost hit the brakes on her forced-bonding plans. But Sami had seemed his characteristically cheery self on the ride back to the hotel, chatting her ear off about the rest of the night’s matches.

Shinsuke, watching them in the rear-view mirror as Becky drives, gave a low chuckle which Sami assumed was a dig at his ceaseless talking.

“Fine, I’ll shut up now. But hell, Shin, when you hit that Kinshasa on Kevin… wow, man. That was awesome.”

“No, no, please. Go on.”

So Sami had.

There was a good deal more wincing and icepacks before bed then normal, but by the time Sami drifted off to sleep, leaving Elise curled alone in the other bed with the warm glow of her laptop for comfort, her mind was made up. She’d already done the legwork of finding a studio that offered drop-in classes for adults in the right style and experience level. She wasn’t going to let that effort go to waste.

 

Baron and Sami awake to texts from the mischievous security guard, ordering them to meet her at an address in the city centre at 9:50am sharp. “Dress comfortably” the text instructs them. A follow up text specifies “nothing too loose.”

Sami follows the directions to a T, picking a t-shirt and his most non-descript pair of practice tights; if he’s going to be made a fool of, he doesn’t want to make it easy for random people to recognize him. Baron ignores the order about loose clothing, picking baggy basketball shorts and a ragged tank top. He’s just finished sweeping his hair up under one of his trademark beanies when there’s a quick rap on his door.

“I thought you might need a lift.” Sami says, as gruffly as ball-of-sunshine Sami Zayn can muster. Baron frowns, but he can’t really think of a good reason to take two cars; not when they have no idea what parking will be like or what they’re even doing.

“Fine,” Baron grunts, tossing his keys back onto the side table and jamming his feet into sneakers. “Just try to shut up for a change, will you?”

Sami looks a bit hurt, but he trails after Baron to the car park without a word.

Baron feels bad for how much he’s snapping at Sami, not that he would _ever_ admit it. He’s wound tighter than a drunken Maritimer right now, anxiety going into overdrive about what the morning could have in store. From the way Sami taps the steering wheel at every stoplight, Baron would hazard a guess the ginger is just as nervous.

There’s a parking spot open right in front of the address Elise sent them, but as Sami pulls in Baron immediately decides there must have been some mistake.

“No. This isn’t right. You must have read it wrong.”

“It’s the place, Baron.” Sami’s stomach has begun churning.

“Fuck. There she is,” Baron groans, spotting Elise, who’s sprung up from the bicycle rack she’d been perched upon and is waving malevolently at them. The building’s loud neon sign proudly proclaims it to be a dance studio.

“Hey boys,” Elise says, coming up to Baron’s side of the car and pulling his door open. She grabs Baron’s hand and pulls him from the safety of the vehicle, and Sami feels a weird rush of emotion flood his gut for a second before being replaced once more with nerves.

“Well, at least one of you listened to me,” Elise sighs, shaking her head at Baron’s baggy shorts. She waits until Sami has locked the car before grabbing his hand as well and dragging both superstars through the studio door.

 

Baron, for an atheist, has spent a rather large amount of time imagining what hell might be like. He was wrong, he thinks, stepping into the large white room lined wall-to-wall with mirrors. Even the fucking floors are the palest shade of wood possible, and there’s entirely too much sunlight flooding the room from the huge windows.

Yes, hell is real, and he’s standing in it right now, being sized up by every woman in the class, some of whose gazes are far too predatory for him to be at all okay with.

The teacher, a sprightly woman of about fifty with the most aggressively flexible feet imaginable, calls them to attention and instructs everyone to take their street shoes off and find a space on the floor to warm up. The boys assume they’ll be left to their own devices to do this, but no; a second later a moody cover of an Ed Sheeran song begins to play and the entire class is stretching in unison except for the wrestlers.

After two songs of this, Sami’s starting to feel like he’s stumbled into _Invasion of the Body Snatchers_. “The sign said this was a beginner class,” he whispers indignantly, sliding awkwardly into his splits.

Elise doesn’t miss a beat as she swings from butterfly to a modified split (at last, something she can’t do that Sami can) and shrugs a bit at him. “Warm-ups are pretty standard for jazz classes. ‘Beginner’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘never stepped in a studio before’ like you two.”

“He dances in his fucking entrance,” Baron hisses. Sami goes to protest, but Baron catches his eye and adds, in a low snarl, “Don’t pretend you don’t have a leg up. This isn’t a fair fight.” Baron’s not even attempting a split. He sits cross-legged and rolls his shoulders menacingly at the clearly more flexible ginger as he waits for the instructor to move on to something different. (Or at least, it would be menacing, if he wasn’t sitting on the floor in a beanie and sock-feet.)

“There’s a really big difference between bouncing around a bit as I run towards adoring fans and trying to follow instructions while thirty other people watch me,” Sami snaps back at him. Baron would keep arguing, but the music has turned off and the teacher is ordering everyone to line up in windows, which apparently has nothing to do with the actual windows lining the wall and instead means “thought you could hide behind someone else and not get seen? Fuck you, wrestleboys!”

 

Baron left his socks on because he has a thing about feet, but this choice is coming back to bite him midway through the second hour, as he attempts a tricky bit of footwork and ends up falling straight on his ass. Sami suppresses a laugh; he’s managed to find his groove a little, but he’s still feeling awkward as hell and he’s getting surprisingly little pleasure out of seeing Baron embarrassed.

“Up you get,” he says, offering Baron his hand.

Baron looks up from the floor like Sami’s grown two heads.

“Please just take it,” Sami whispers nervously. “People are staring.”

Baron’s lip curls savagely, though only Sami can see that. He takes the offered hand, dragging himself upright with enough force that Sami almost falls over on top of him. A few of the women titter at him, and he bites back a snarl.

“Thirty minutes, Corbin,” Sami whispers, and _is that sympathy in his tone?_ “We can do this.”

 _Shit,_ Corbin realizes _. I don’t hate him._

In fact, by the time the teacher numbers them off and makes them perform the combo in small groups, he’s actually _grateful_ Sami gets the same number. Sami has barely grasped the choreography, but what he has learned he mutters under his breath to Baron when he notices him getting lost. He even hams it up during the four counts of improv so nobody even notices that Baron just kinda bobs up and down because they’re so busy giggling at Sami’s antics.

Elise’s group is the last to go, and as Baron and Sami sit with their backs to the mirror and watch her, it’s clear to them she’s slumming it in the beginner class. She nails every move, and she makes it look easy. She’s the only one to hit the final pose at the correct time, and after the seated dancers have had a moment to applaud politely, the instructor informs them the class is over. Sami actually _hugs_ Baron for a few seconds in his excitement. Baron freezes at the touch, but he doesn’t punch Sami or shove him off. Elise throws a “told you so” look their way, and Baron groans before he can stop himself.

Lone Wolf Baron Corbin now has _three whole friends_ , and he’s too relieved to put his shoes back on and breathe free air again to be mad about it.

“It could be worse,” Sami points out. “She could have picked ballet.”

“Look, if this is gonna work we’re gonna need to establish some boundaries.”

“Cool. Boundaries are cool. Boundaries are great. I can do boundaries.”

“Boundaries like Zayn has to shut up sometimes or Corbin will snap and deck his ass.”

“Point taken. But you realize we have to get revenge now, right?” Sami asks. “Even though it worked and all. We can’t just let her get away with putting us through that ego-bruising.”

“Revenge, huh?” Baron responds, thoughtful. A wicked gleam creeps into his eye as he pulls out his phone and swipes over to Google. “Leave it to me.”

 

If Elise is suspicious about why Baron insisted they get ice cream at a shop 10 minutes away when there was a place right across the street from where they ate lunch, she doesn’t say anything. She’s so distracted by the deliciously oversized cone that she blindly follows Sami and Baron into their next destination, figuring one of the boys wants to shop or something.

In a way, they do. It’s just not exactly _that_ kind of shop.

“Hi! What can I do for you?” the friendly lady at the cash asks.  Elise finally looks up from her ice cream and notices the wall of framed black-and-grey artwork behind the receptionist, the soft electric hum floating in from the back, the merchandise corner with hipster tank tops and snapbacks filled with witty tattoo puns.

Baron replies, “I’m hoping you have some walk-in space free.”

“Andala! Client for you!” the receptionist sing-songs, and before Elise can mount any form of protest a tall girl with spiky blond hair and an intricate chest-piece bounds out into the front room.

“Do you know what you want?” the artist askes cheerily.

Elise shakes her head. “Nope, not at all.”

Baron folds his arms and raises an eyebrow at Sami. Sami gives Elise an apologetic look and tells Andala, “She wants an ampersand in 200pt Constantia font.” Elise glares at this betrayal, and Sami puts his hands up in front of himself helplessly. “You know I’m a terrible liar!”

“Well, why don’t I get a stencil printed up and you can decide if you want to go through with it once you’ve seen the placement?”

Baron softens a little as Andala flits off to the back. “Look. If you’re really against this I’m not going to force you to do it. Tattoos are serious business. But an eye for and eye and some pain for some pain.”

“My mom’s going to kill me.”

Sami shakes his head vigorously. “Your mom one hundred and TEN percent does not get a say in this.”

“But what if I can’t stop myself itching it and I ruin the damn thing?”

“I’ll hold your hands away from it for two weeks _myself_ if it means it heals properly. Tattoos are serious business,” Baron repeats.

Elise looks at them for a long moment, then throws her hands up in the air. “Fuck it. I’m in.”

 

The needle is honestly more annoying than it is painful; Andala says a lot of women end up saying that. In fact, Elise sits so well that when she mentions kinda wanting a second one, Andala jumps at the chance, sending them for more ice cream while she sketches something up right away.

“I still think she got the better deal out of this,” huffs Baron, as Elise swings up and hobbles to the mirror to get a good, long look at the second piece, knee crunching loudly.

“I don’t detest you anymore. I’d say that’s a victory.”

“I… don’t hate you, either.”

“What are we now then? Friends? Associates? Buddies?”

“Grudging buddies. I still like Dean better then you.”

“S’fine, everyone likes Dean better then me.”

Baron’s not used to other humans being vulnerable around him. He doesn’t quite know how to react to it. Dean’s got walls, and they both like it that way; Sami walks around with every flaw and chink in the armor exposed, as if he somehow draws his power from that.

“Elise, are you crying?” Baron asks, and Sami is immediately at her side, hugging her gently so as not to disturb the fresh ink covering her left shoulder blade. An owl, filled in with intricate lines and squiggles. _To watch my back, she’d said._

“I didn’t think… ” she sniffles, catching Baron’s arm and pulling him into the hug, too. “I didn’t think I could love my body this much.”

And Baron Corbin, he of the nagging “Big Breakfast” nickname and the myriad of “sad tummy” photoshops and the approximately thirty twitter mentions a day about his receding hairline, finds himself returning the hug. Finds tears pricking in eyes that he didn’t think _could_ cry anymore.

“What’re you gonna name it?” he asks, angling for an opening to call her a nerd and dispel the emotional tension surrounding their little huddle.

“Zorbin,” she answers with a grin, a few stray tears still leaking out.

“Is that-” Sami starts to ask, and Baron is already laughing his ass off and mouthing “nerd” in between breaths.

“I can’t name it Saron, everyone will just think I don’t know how to pronounce Sauron properly!”

Baron shakes his head, collecting himself. “Seriously, you? Are a huge nerd.”

“ _Hypocrite_. C’mon, Andala needs to get home.”

Andala wanders over at the sound of her name. “Ah, I’m not in a rush. But let’s take a few pics and get you wrapped up, huh?”

“Yeah. Let’s do it.”

 

As Baron drives them back to the hotel, Elise pipes up from the back seat, “So we’re all cool now? We’re gonna leave our work shit at work?” Warm pizzas take up the remainder of the space next to her, and Becky has already snapchatted them three times from the hotel room, making stupid faces with Renee and playing the Electric Shock game that Naomi had inexplicably borrowed from Xavier.

“When did Renee plan this party, anyway?” Sami asks as the onscreen Shinsuke gets shocked and lets out the tiniest noise of surprise.

“About 10 minutes ago when she told us to bring them back pizza. You know what Renee’s like, advanced notice is for chumps. Answer the question, boys.”

“We good?” Sami asks, looking at Baron with a hopeful half-grin.

“I’m good if you’re good,” Baron answers, and though it’s phrased as a statement, it’s meant as a question. Because nine times out of ten, it’s not Baron who’s coming home from work covered in new welts and bruises. It’s not Baron with a legitimate grudge to hold. Fuck, these days Baron doesn’t remember more than half of what happens “at work”; it’s so often not him in that ring, but The Wolf.

Sami nods and turns back to Elise. “We’re good,” he proclaims happily.

 

Elise has always been a big believer in the power of dance. There’s something about the liminal space of the studio that brings out the truth in people, something about how even when choreo is finished it’s never _really_ finished that can force growth out of anyone. And as she watches Baron cordially nod “good night” to Sami before he flees to his room to blast metal and introvert for a week, she finds her faith in the artform reaffirmed.

Sami grabs her hand, startling her out of her reverie as they’re about to crack into the pizzas and start the movie.

“You were itching it,” he offers in explanation, turning his phone around so she can read his latest text conversation.

 

**_lone woofs: if she scratches it when i’m not around_ **

**_lone woofs: holding you personally responsible for scars + any color_ **

**_lone woofs: that gets pulled out_ **

****

“You better never let him see that contact name. He will kill you.”

“It’d be worth it. But we promised we’d make sure those tattoo heals properly, and we meant it.”

“I think it was Baron who promised that.”

“Well. I was thinking it.”

“You’re a good man, Sami Zayn.”

 

*******

_Happiness is a warm pizza._

*******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess what my favourite comic of all time is?


End file.
